Fire in the Making
by PaintedElectric
Summary: Haymitch is going back in with only one goal: to ensure Katniss survives. But he knows these fellow tributes, former victors, friends, allies, and they all must die for the Mockingjay to live on. He is prepared to kill for her, to die for her, however, he is not prepared for the twenty-fifth tribute to the 75th Hunger Games. M for ALL MANNER of adult content. Reviews appreciated.
1. Chapter 1: No Immunity

**|My second universe, third story of THG. If you've read my others, you might see some repeat story elements, but nothing carbon-copy. I have also taken the liberty of replacing some of the book/film victor tributes for the 75** **th** **Games and substituting my own characters. You'll see which ones. Title subject to change (because they're not my forte). Thanks for reading and please review!|**

His immediate reaction after shutting himself in his room aboard the train bound for the Capitol was to scream and break something, which happened to be his bedside lamp. The glass sculpture that made up the base shattered and a Capitol attendant rushed in, offering assistance. He had cursed at the assistant to leave and then proceeded to run into his shower room and turn the nozzle to nearly scalding hot so that he could stand in the spray and try to shake some of the nerves off of him.

He had agreed to this, but it didn't make the reality of it any easier to deal with.

Katniss had asked him to take Peeta's place, Peeta had asked that he ensure Katniss was the victor yet again. Which of them did he keep his promise to? Both of them, but only if he went into the Games with Katniss. She would be going in, regardless of which of her fellow District 12 victors was with her, and so when Effie Trinket had announced Peeta Mellark as the District 12 tribute, he had volunteered in the boy's stead, pushing Peeta behind him when the latter tried to stop him from taking his place beside Katniss center-stage. The stern look he offered Peeta told the boy to keep his mouth shut and go along with the proceedings, even when the tributes were herded from the stage to the train station without receiving a chance to say their farewells (but in all honesty, only Katniss had anyone to wish her farewell. The only people who would put in their time to say goodbye to _him_ were coming aboard the train with him anyway.).

And so Haymitch Abernathy would be going back into the Games as well, into his second Quarter Quell, exactly twenty-five years after President Snow had emptied his life of everything worth living for. Only now he had two people he desperately needed to protect, not solely because he felt a reluctant fatherly attachment to them, but because it was crucial that they survive—for after. But neither of them knew about that just yet.

Still, as pathetic and unrewarding of a life as Haymitch had led, it was _a_ life, and even his capacity for self-loathing couldn't stamp out his will to live. Only, he had to give that up now, because it was imperative that Katniss become victor again. Peeta would win her sponsors and Haymitch would defend her from the other tributes to ensure that she came out of the arena alive. The idea was laughable; _Haymitch_ would protect her. What was he? A drunkard, an unathletic, depressed, intoxicated, half-deranged, pessimistic, pathetic idiot who had spent the last six months coming awake from his nightmares screaming because of alcohol withdrawal. What use would he be to Katniss on the inside? He wasn't skilled with a weapon and hadn't had to wield one in a quarter of a century. He was older than most of the surviving victors (or at least the ones who could cause a problem for Katniss), and therefore slower, less agile.

He was useless.

But his knowledge wasn't. He knew every victor alive, knew their tactics and strategies for winning their past Games, knew to what ends they would go to survive, knew how deep their hatred for the Capitol ran, knew which ones could be trusted to see the plan though to the end and which ones he would have no choice but to eliminate, however possible.

Acquaintances, friends, survivors. People who would all have to die so that Katniss's flame could continue to flicker in a world that was desperately trying to put her out. How was he supposed to do that, sacrifice the lives of twenty-two others who had he known and even grown fond of in place of a young woman who he had known one year?

 _She's the main piece. Without her, the tributes will all die for nothing. She has to survive and you have to do your damndest to make that a reality._

Stepping out of the shower, Haymitch didn't bother to dry his hair, but changed out of his sopping clothes into comfortable attire provided just for him. A breathable tunic, a pair of pants with an elastic waistband which he intended to put to the test in gorging himself so that, once in the arena, he wouldn't lose what little muscle mass he had managed to acquire this past half year.

Out in the corridor, he saw that the dining cart was empty and headed that way, gazing upon the food laid out for him and suddenly losing his appetite. He pulled up a chair at the table and piled morsels onto his plate, trying to opt for protein and vitamins in place of delicacies and carbs. He had never been much of a meat lover, especially after being in the Games already, but chicken and turkey were the two types that he could stomach without being reminded of the blood and guts he had seen up close. Additionally, he drank several glasses of orange juice to compensate the pressure in his sinuses and the phlegm in his throat, both side-effects of going sober so that he could train properly. The next few days were going to be hell on his body if he didn't take proper precautions.

Picking moodily at his food, he didn't hear Katniss approach until she stood at his shoulder, just out of reach in case she startled him and caused him to go for the butter knife in front of him.

"What?" he asked.

"Do you want to watch the Reapings?" asked Katniss dully.

"Of course I don't _want_ to," Haymitch snapped. "But I guess I have to now, don't I? If it'll help you know who to watch out for so I don't have to keep up a running commentary when we're in the arena…"

Katniss sat down cross-legged on the couch, pulling a pillow into her lap as she switched on the projector screen. Reaching for a bottle of liquor but deciding better of it, Haymitch occupied himself with a cup of coffee and joined her, sinking as low into the leather couch as his slouching body would allow. They heard Caesar Flickerman's voice-over announcing each district with enthusiasm before the district appeared on screen and the respecting escorts drew the names. With each district, Haymitch reluctantly spilled out every detail he knew, positive and negative, about the previous victors. His heart sank with every name, some because he knew he would never be able to draw their blood, others because it meant protecting Katniss against magnifying odds.

"That's Cashmere and Gloss from One. He's the elder, won the year before his sister and both of them have their favorite weapons with at least ten years more experience than you have. They prefer knives, but Gloss is deadly with a sword. Presumptuous, arrogant, just like all the tributes and victors from their district. I couldn't tell you if they're more or less lethal than Two, which happens to be Brutus and Enobaria. Lucky us."

"How so?" asked Katniss, scowling at the victors and two-time tributes of Two.

"Because they're so bloodthirsty, they might just finish off One for us. Oh, they'll form the Career pack, but Brutus likes to crush his victims to death or strangle them or snap their necks and Enobaria, as you can see by her fangs, would now sadistically prefer to tear out chunks of flesh from her opponent. That's how she did it before, but her teeth were normal back then. She's upgraded and I wouldn't want to be on the other end of those pearly whites. But Brutus will protect her until it comes down to the wire because they had a fling once upon a time. He'll feel just dedicated enough to see her through to nearly the end and then either euthanize her or let one of us do it so that he won't have to. She, on the other hand, probably doesn't give a shit about him. Lovely people, right?"

"Do you think all the previous victors will want to protect their district partners?" Katniss wondered.

That was an excellent question. Since only One, Two, and Four had more than four or five victors apiece, they were less likely to be dedicated to their district partners. But the other districts that supplied a grand total of less than five tributes would have friends facing off against friends, unlike most children who never even met their district partners before being thrown into the Games with them. The victors of each district formed friendships as a way of coping with the after-horrors of the Games and more likely than not, they would try to survive together until the end.

"Depends on who they are," Haymitch told Katniss to partially answer her. "Most victors form friendships with any other victors from their district out of necessity: to help in the long-run after they send dozens of kids to their deaths. It helps to know that someone else is suffering right alongside you and you start to share that grief."

"And you never had that," said Katniss carefully.

"Not from my district, no. My mentor, Glenn Bywater, died the year after I won, so I became the sole mentor as well as the last victor of Twelve. I've befriended a lot of the other district victors, though, so I'm warning you now that this is going to be a tough one for me. I'm not exactly bosom buddies with One and Two, but I know we're about to come up on some names that are going to put me between a rock and a hard place."

And he was right, starting immediately with Three's tributes, Beetee and Wiress.

"She went a little bit off the deep end in recent years, but she's sweet enough," said Haymitch, watching Wiress's wrinkled, middle-aged face and slightly vacant eyes. "She won her Games by making any enemies follow her through a maze of bombs that detonated if stepped on. Not exactly what you'd call a bloodless victory since she intended to kill them, but she never laid a finger on them in the process. Beetee, on the other hand, knows exactly what he's doing at all times. His mind works at a hundred miles an hour and he managed to simultaneously electrocute the six remaining tributes besides himself. They're both brilliant, but he's the more dangerous of the two. They're also good friends, so you can bet on them to stick together."

District 4 appeared and Haymitch pinched the bridge of his nose, praying that he hadn't just seen what he thought he saw. He opened one eye and sure enough, there was the face of old Mags Flanagan, Panem's eldest victor.

"Oh, God."

"What?"

"This is gonna sound really bad, but I hope someone else kills that woman because I sure as hell am not going to be able to. She's the most motherly, kindest, selfless person to ever go through the Games and there is no way in hell I can ever willingly kill her. She won because she knew how to fish while the rest of the tributes went hungry because the only food source available was the fish. She shared it with the few allies she made, but they got killed by the Careers and so she destroyed the food source and outlasted the Careers by starving them out. It was a long, drawn-out year of Games that went on for about a month, back when the system was still trial and error with what the audience did or didn't want to see. But she's like Wiress; she never touched another tribute with the intention to harm them. Her district partner this year, however, is Finnick Odair which just makes this so damn difficult because he's basically her adoptive son. He loves her as much as anyone could love another person and he'll die for her, not that she'd let him. She knows what she's getting herself into, but he doesn't. His weapon of choice is the trident and he's as good as any Career with it."

"Hopefully she dies quick and painlessly, maybe falling and breaking her neck or ingesting something poisonous," said Katniss wistfully.

"Don't get your hopes up—but I agree that that'd be the best way for her to go. Moving on, now, to District 5. Looks to be—oh, goddammit!"

"What now?"

"Those two," said Haymitch with rage, pointing at the screen where a sad-eyed man with mousy brown hair and a woman with large lips and golden hair were joining hands on stage. "They're married. Zelic and Amara Sylvan. They won back-to-back years and tied the knot after her Games and they've got a kid, for God's sake. What the hell is this?"

Haymitch stood up and knocked over the coffee table in frustration.

"They can't fucking do this! All of these people have connections to their partners: siblings, lovers, best friends, spouses—"

"Parent and child?" Katniss guessed.

"Don't flatter yourself."

"We're not going to get through this tape if you blow up after every announcement. I understand you're angry; I really do, but I need you to try and focus, tell me everything I need to know, and then I promise you that I'll let you destroy this entire cart. But I need the information first."

He knew this would be his reaction, but he had been hoping to control it to some extent after silently agreeing with himself to be better composed in front of Katniss. If she only saw him as a raging drunk, she'd have a hard time convincing people to ally themselves with her because everyone knew that she, Peeta, and Haymitch were now an inseparable team. She needed his strength right now, not his emotional ties to these people, and so with much effort, Haymitch sat back down, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping his hands to his mouth in anticipation of the next two tributes.

"Okay, so Zelic and Amara are on my maybe list. They're not pushovers, but they're not sadistic or bloodthirsty. Both have their skills, though. Amara took the high ground in her Games and scoped out the enemy from above, throwing poisonous darts with deadly accuracy. Zelic's probably the softer of the two. His kill count was one, two if you overlook the technicality that when he pushed past another tribute to outrun a mutt, he accidentally knocked her right into an electric field. But he did mean to kill a Career from Four. His arena was an abandoned city, but he managed to get a vehicle working and mowed the last tribute down before the other guy could get off a round from a gun. Not exactly an expert in any one area, but he's wily and well-rounded."

The faces of the married couple faded as District 6 appeared.

Two gaunt faces followed, those of victors who, like Haymitch, had found a way to cope with the pain, but were suffering much more from it. They had turned to injections of morphling to dull the ache in their bodies and became addicted to it to the point where it became their main source of nourishment, causing their bodies to waste away. But in recent years, the male had started to regain a healthier outward appearance where the female had been officially charged as mentally unstable by Capitol doctors. Kilo's hair had mostly fallen out, but what remained was grey and closely shaved. His face was skeletal still, but a hint of life had come back to his otherwise sunken cheeks, and as thin as he was, he was also nimble, something Haymitch had observed from Kilo's Games when he managed to evade the much bigger Career pack by simply being too quick to catch as the Careers made grabs for him and he easily slipped away, returning to stab them with needles full of toxic liquids before retreating to await their demise. Demi, on the other hand, had suffered brain damage when an explosion triggered by her remaining two opponents sent her flying sky high. She landed on the back of her head and the Gamemakers had had to cut immediately to another scene as the hovercraft came in to administer first aid.

"Are they working as a team?"

"No, I don't think she even knows what's going on. She hasn't been able to speak for years now and she lives in an assisted living home for the mentally handicapped, but Snow's mercy doesn't extend to people who are already brain dead. She'll be lucky to make it off of her pedestal before someone puts her down. Kilo's not as quick as he once was, but the fight's not out of him yet."

After the announcement of the tributes from Seven, Haymitch actually let out a small sigh of relief.

"We might have reached the first indifferent partner pair because Johanna's never cared about a thing in her life except herself and Blight is socially inexperienced. She favors the axe and she can go berserk with it, which is what she did when the Careers came for her. An axe is one of the hardest weapons to wield, but she's grown up around lumber, so she knows how to do it. Blight won because he had the best immune system out of the five remaining tributes. The Gamemakers released a plague and he was the only one left standing, though they had to evacuate him quick and administer the cure. She hasn't really had much of a chance to mentor except for last year and he's reserved about it, so they don't talk much. So there's one team we don't have to worry about, just separately."

It was still difficult to see their faces, but Haymitch was more concerned about Johanna's vengeful streak than Blight's slightly nervous one.

"District 8. We've got Tyrek and Ramie."

"What do you think the chances of them helping us are? I mean, Eight had all those riots and—"

"And I'm gonna stop you right there, because the poor people in Eight started the riots, not the victors. Some victors remain a part of their community, but others become just as self-absorbed as the people from the Capitol, and I'm sad to say that since Eight is one of the poorest districts, Tyrek and Ramie climbed that ladder as quickly as they could to get out of there. They helped the Peacekeepers round up the rioters, for your information so no, we will not be allying ourselves with them. Tyrek is close to sixty now, maybe a little over, but he's still in great physical shape. He's built like Peeta and his strength helped out a lot in his Games. He likes axes too, but he wouldn't say no to a spear, so count on him to team up with the Careers. Ramie is—and I'm not entirely sorry to say this—a bit of a bitch. A floozy, very loose, very manipulative, and deadly. She seduced as many tributes as she could, both male and female, and then used a garrote to strangle them. I think her kill count was eight or nine."

Haymitch wrinkled his nose at the sight of Ramie on the screen. Even outside the arena, she still liked to get handsy with the other victors and he had made a mental note to not be too drunk around her to avoid a sexual lawsuit.

"Are they going to be a team, do you think?" asked Katniss, obviously sharing Haymitch's displeasure.

"Maybe. I'm pretty sure she tried out her charm on him, but whether or not he accepted it, I don't know, nor do I care. Either way, we don't want either of them with us."

Eight faded into Nine and Haymitch saw a pointed face belonging to a man with tight features, curly brown hair almost at shoulder length, and hard, but hopeless brown eyes as well as a woman with nearly raven hair, combed forward so that it hid most of her face including her equally defeated eyes, except hers were grey and frightened.

"From Nine it looks like it's gonna be Stele and Olathe—son of a bitch—"

"You promised," Katniss reminded him.

"I know, I know, but they're not making this easy on me."

 _She's going to be one of the first to go, for sure._

Olathe had won her Games in an arena of rocks, gravel, and quick-sand. Most of the deaths came about from one tribute leading another into a rock avalanche or a hidden patch of quick-sand, but those who managed to outwit the arena were forced together for the Feast which consisted of a single bottle of water. The arena had been bone-dry and all the containers had been drained by those lucky and strong enough to grab them at the start of the bloodbath. Desperate, Olathe ran for the water first when another tribute aimed for her and took out the tribute behind her instead. Then, with just the two of them left, the male tribute had pinned her, stolen the water, and started to force himself on her. Terrified, weak, and screaming for her mother, Olathe had flung gravel into the male tribute's face, rolled out from underneath him, and then proceeded to bash his head in with a rock in a state of panic.

Following her victory, she had gone through two years of mentoring when the male tribute from her own district had violated her the night of the live interviews. The next day, the male tribute was a survivor of the bloodbath, but secret cameras showed him dragging and then assaulting Olathe in his room and on Snow's own orders, the Gamemakers caused mutts to burst from under the swamp and pull the male tribute down into the murky depths of the bog as retribution. Still, Olathe never recovered, and Stele had taken it upon himself to be her bodyguard, escorting her everywhere and threatening anyone who came too close without permission. It was evident of how seriously he took his duty, how much he truly cared for her, when he volunteered for the only other male victor of Nine. He had to know that Olathe would succumb to a reversion as soon as the gong rang and that there would be no saving her, but he volunteered all the same, determined to escort his friend into the next life as well.

As Haymitch relayed this to Katniss, he saw tears spring into her eyes in sympathy for this woman.

"I want her," said Katniss. "I want her as an ally."

"You'll have to take that up with Stele because if you don't let him know beforehand, he'll try to kill you as soon as you step within ten feet of her."

"Why's he that dedicated to her?"

"Because his twin sister was reaped the same year as him and he couldn't protect her, so he's trying to compensate with Olathe," said Haymitch simply. "Nothing's more dangerous than someone determined to die for someone they love, so if it comes down to it and the four of us are last, he'll turn on you to protect her. He goes the route of the double sword and I've seen him cut a tribute clean in half with them, and that was when he was only fifteen."

"Then what if I don't want him as an ally, but I want her? Would she go along with it?"

"Not a chance. She's messed up in the head, but she also loves him and only trusts him, so why would she give up that protection to ally herself with you, knowing that you'd eventually have to kill her?"

"Okay, okay, it was just a question."

"Well, start asking better questions. Up next in Ten is August and Enid."

"The names sound similar."

"That's because it runs in the family. That's his niece, once removed. Ten doesn't have any other female victors, so no one could volunteer for her, and I'm guessing that's why August _did_ volunteer, to protect her once he's in there. That's a dedicated family man, I'll give him that, but the same thing is going on with a lot of these teams; they're close, and one of them is dead-set on making sure the other survives."

"Except there aren't a lot of females stepping up to defend the males," Katniss observed, and Haymitch threw a pillow at her.

"Get off your high horse, why don't you? You don't know these people. Amara could have decided to live with her child, but she volunteered to go into the Games with her husband, knowing that their kid is gonna be taken care of when they die. She loves Zelic more than she loves living, so she took the place of the other female victor to be with him. And Mags just volunteered for another mentally unstable woman, Annie Cresta, because all of the victors from Four are like children to her, so she'd rather die than let one of them go in again. She's helpless, but she's gonna do whatever it takes to bring Finnick out alive. And even here, with Eleven, Crescere is maybe ten years younger than Mags and she just volunteered to go in with Farrow because her son and Farrow are best friends. All of these women are stepping up because they know they aren't going to win and aren't delusional enough to hope for it, but they're going in anyway just to be with their loved ones."

He was tiring of Katniss's attitude in thinking that because Snow had targeted her for these Games, she was the only one with something to lose, and was therefore more entitled to grieve or be furious than anyone else. Twenty-two other people were about to have their lives destroyed because Snow wanted her dead, and all she could do was complain.

"You ought to show a little respect and appreciation to these people who have the choice to live, but are opting to die."

"Like you, you mean?" she challenged.

"Oh, I'm gonna die, sweetheart, but not for you."

 _I'm going to die because of you, and because I have to, for something bigger than all of us._


	2. Chapter 2: Subtle Messages

It was no secret that Cinna and Portia had been banking on the star-crossed lovers in their designs for the tribute parade, but upon discovering that Peeta had been taken out of the equation, they had to do some quick last-minute revisions to make the costumes more appropriate and Portia spent every last second working on Haymitch's outfit while his prep team worked on him. Two of his preppers had come directly from Peeta's old crew, but somehow, they had managed to dig up the last surviving member of Haymitch's first prep team and put him in with the others. Old Salonius still wore his hair in tight fuchsia ringlets at the back of his head and had accepted some shoddy plastic surgery to preserve his face, but otherwise, he looked the same as when Haymitch had last seen him a quarter of a century ago. The other two, Arcadius with his shoulder-length wig of midnight blue complete with glittering stars and Lycinia with her heavily pierced face, were less familiar with Haymitch, but just as eager to make him look his best to please Portia, whom they all seemed to have an enormous amount of respect for.

They set to work on him, stripping him naked and plucking, washing, scrubbing, sanding, yanking away all the imperfections. However, Portia had given them special instructions to not remove any hair on his body other than his chest, which was waxed to the point where Haymitch couldn't help but shout out a few of his choicest swearwords. His skin felt raw afterward, but he supposed he should be thankful that he was allowed to keep the rest of his hair.

Being in a drunken state for most of his life meant that he had abysmal posture, but this was easily fixed by forcing him into a corset that made it almost one hundred percent impossible to breathe. Since he wouldn't be showing an immense amount of skin, his arms and legs went mostly untreated apart from greasing him down in an oil that made him shimmer in the light. His beard was trimmed and tended to perfection so that not a single whisker was out of place, though a quick dye had been administered to the grey and white bits that had replaced his natural blonde over the years. His eyebrows were shaped, his nose hairs clipped, and his curtains of blonde hair tied back in a ponytail that made him look ready for battle.

"You're still caught in lockjaw," scolded Salonius, tapping Haymitch's chin with one finger. "Loosen up so that it doesn't look like you're chewing on your own tongue and try for a smile."

"I have a gap in my teeth the size of a hovercraft. No one's going to want to see that," Haymitch argued. And it was true; he knew he had an unattractive smile, which was why if he had to do it, he kept his lips sealed tightly over his teeth.

"If we had more time, we could do a fast-acting tightening," said Arcadius wistfully, tossing his luscious strands of blue over his shoulder.

"But we don't, so let's see how the lippy smile looks," said Salonius.

Scowling beforehand, Haymitch looked down at the porcelain floor for inspiration, imagining something that would genuinely give him cause to smile. Nothing came to mind, so he forced his lips to turn up, but knew before raising his head that he was grimacing.

"Hopeless as ever in the charm department. Let's keep our fingers crossed that you're still as cheeky as you were the last time you were interviewed," said Salonius with a shake of his head. "It's all you've got going for you."

"Nonesense. With a little bit of turquoise highlights, maybe a few tattoos creeping over his eyes and along his neck, he would be the most attractive tribute in the parade," said Lycinia with a bit of a blush. "Good luck, Haymitch."

They left him and he quickly snatched up his robe, just managing to tie it around his waist when Portia entered with his costume hidden in a black traveling bag.

"So what angle are we going for?" asked Haymitch as she began unpacking the pieces to his wardrobe. "Father-daughter team?"

"No, that's already being played out by August and Enid as well as Mags and Finnick, maybe even Crescere and Farrow. No, Cinna and I decided that since you taught Katniss how to challenge the system, it's only fitting that your costume feeds hers, from mentor to mentored. Here's your underwear."

Portia handed him a set of boxer shorts and then turned away in a simple yet generous act that was not wasted on him. She knew what he was preparing to do for Katniss, for the future of Panem, and she also knew how much he despised intimate human interaction, so she granted him this moment of privacy because it was going to be one of his last. When he had pulled his boxers on, Portia fitted him with what appeared to be an ordinary dark grey vest that emphasized his broad, waxed chest, but still concealed the corset that was slowly suffocating him. Similar grey pants followed and a pair of calf-length boots completed the look.

He knew it would be rude to ask what exactly Portia was going for, but it wasn't in his nature to refrain from comment, so he didn't hold back.

"So we're trying for the angle of the mentor being buried in a concrete box, are we?"

"Your costume isn't live yet. As with Katniss and Peeta in the last Games, no one will know what the surprise is until you're on camera. But trust me when I say that the image will be best received if you stand as close to Katniss as possible. And in the meantime, you don't look like a fool standing in a chicken outfit or dressed up as a paper doll. You're welcome."

Haymitch found himself smirking against his will. She had sass, and she knew how to dish it out in expert fashion. Apparently, Salonius had informed her of Haymitch's faulty smile, for she pointed to his face in that moment with a gesture that said, _freeze._

"That, right there. That's the only smile I want you to wear at any point during the interviews. It shows contempt, it shows that you're not trying to put on a spectacle for anyone and that you're deciding to go into the arena and exist in the arena as yourself, not a puppet or a character for them to empathize with."

He noticed how she had said "exist" in the arena and not "die", even though everyone besides Katniss knew this was Haymitch's ultimate goal.

"But no smiling on the chariot ride, okay? I want you to fixate on something, keep your eyes on it, and think of all the ways you could kill it as if it had done you a personal wrong."

Another smile escaped onto Haymitch's face as he asked, "Are you sure you don't want to volunteer for me?"

"If I thought I'd stand a better chance of protecting Katniss than you, I would. Or I would volunteer to help both of you. But I'm allowed to help win you sponsors, and if nothing else, that is the very best I can do for you."

Nodding his thanks, Haymitch followed her to the lifts that would take him back up to the main level from the Remake Center. He swallowed hard before stepping off the elevator to the sounds of whistles and catcalls from a few of his fellow victors. August of Ten and Johanna Mason of Seven teased him about desperately trying to find a female companion in his last days due to the display of his manicured chest while Cashmere and Gloss scoffed at his seemingly unappealing outfit compared to the diamonds glistening off of their rather exposing armor that would in no way protect them in a real fight. Finnick Odair was giving him his signature triangular grin and passed a wink his way.

 _At least someone's having fun_.

Haymitch saw that several of the stylists had indeed been going for matching outfits to show, not the unity of the tributes, but the relationship of the victors. August and Enid, Mags and Finnick, Zelic and Amara—they all wore complimentary costumes, altered to fit the male or female body. Already mounted on the District Six chariot were Kilo and Demi, the former of whom was trying to keep Demi from peeling the studs off of her gown that had been padded in several places to hide her emaciated body.

It was to this chariot Haymitch went first as Kilo's normally soft-spoken voice pleaded in exasperation for Demi to stop destroying her costume. Her stylist appeared to have given up on making her pay attention and stalked away, but Kilo alone remained to help her. It wasn't to avoid looking foolish in front of the cameras with a nearly brain-dead partner; he had looked and played the part of a fool for years in taking to morphling the way Haymitch took to alcohol. No, Kilo simply wanted to spare Demi any further shame.

"Hold her hand once you get out there," Haymitch told Kilo as he approached. He tore a rose from the harness that adorned the chariot horses' hair and handed it Demi who took it unconsciously and began to peel the petals off in fixated fascination. "Have her play with that in her other hand."

Kilo jerked his head as a form of thanks and then Haymitch headed back toward his own chariot at the end of the line. He saw Brutus wearing chainmail over one shoulder so that the rest of his rippling muscles would be sure to catch the eye of all sponsors in a demonstration of his unmatched strength. Brutus was headed for his own chariot and knocked into Olathe who let out a small, terrified shriek and curled into the fetal position as Brutus passed, but he never looked back. Her district partner, Stele was at her side in an instant, blocking Brutus from sight with his body. He didn't touch her, didn't come within a full foot of her, but called softly to her, whispering words of comfort to bring her mind back from the dark places it had gone with a simple brush of Brutus's skin against hers. Gradually, she uncurled herself and stood up, nodding to Stele that she was okay to continue. The two of them went to their chariot, but the hem of her wheat-woven dress snagged and she toppled backward.

Using crossed arms to catch her, Haymitch tried to make sure as little of him touched her as possible before he gave a slight push to help her regain her balance. She wheeled around to look at him and he backed off a few steps, hoping he wasn't about to send her back into the world she had just returned from. Stele's stern expression was warning him to walk away, but Haymitch saw the words of gratitude form on Olathe's lips before she turned back around to face the front.

At the chariot for Twelve, he stepped up first and then held out his hand to Katniss who was sporting much the same look as himself, except her chest was covered and in place of pants, she had a skirt that reached her ankles. The only addition she had over him was a grey headband that disappeared into her wavy hair. Behind them, Portia and Cinna were discussing final arrangements which involved Cinna running alongside the chariot until it was almost clear of the tunnel so that he could light the fuse.

The fuse?

Haymitch knew he had to have misheard, but the anthem was already playing, the first chariot already exiting the tunnel so that he had no time to question anything. They were moving, and the sudden motion made him grasp the railing in a white-knuckled fist.

"What's he mean, the fuse?" asked Haymitch over the blaring anthem.

"I don't know, but don't look so terrified. Cinna told me that we're supposed to look battle-prepped, not anxious about what the fuse means. He knows what he's doing, so don't panic, and be ready."

Cinna's brilliance in the last tribute parade had been admirable enough, but it had been fake flames. There was no such thing as a fake fuse and a fuse meant explosions. If any loud noises started emitting from the back of the chariot, the horses would bolt and probably mow down half of the crowd. But Haymitch had to trust that whatever his costume was about to do, it would be safe, so he closed his eyes, listening to Cinna gain on them, then the telltale sound of a lighted fuse making its way toward the item of impact.

He felt sunlight hit his eyelids and wrenched them open, picking out a spot in the distance and concentrating on keeping his face as anger-filled as possible. Only he couldn't simply stare off into oblivion when he was picking up clues on how to make his and Katniss's entrance more memorable. They were a team, after all, and just because Peeta was not going into the arena with her, it didn't make them any less dedicated to one another's survival.

"Hand?" asked Haymitch, feeling for Katniss's fingers without tearing his eyes away from the crowd. Her fingertips curled into his and then he saw their reflection in the projected screens aligning the street. The fuse had connected to points on their clothes, starting with their shoes which ruffled upward like scales, no like _feathers_. And as each feather stood up, a twirling spark of light shot out to form a firework that burst behind them. When their entire costumes were ruffled, the fireworks built into a swirling inferno that trailed behind them, dying out into flower petals in their wake.

Subtle, but not so subtle at all. Symbolic, more like. They were made to represent mockingjays aflame with the fire of the rebellion Katniss had started. The smaller firecracklers represented the impact Katniss's actions had, all leading to the overwhelming fire that could burn away all of Panem, but when the fire had gone, new life began. To the audience, it was simply a spectacle of bright, beautiful things, but to the Capitol itself and to Snow, it was a slap to the face—and both Cinna and Portia had to know what it would mean to dare and make such outfits.

Suddenly fearing for their safety, Haymitch grasped Katniss's hand tighter and felt her squeeze back, realizing the sacrifice their stylists had made at the same time.

In front of them, the other districts must have seen the unity Haymitch and Katniss displayed, for they began joining hands, linking arms, or otherwise engaging with their district partner. One and Two pumped their joined hands into the air as if they had already won the Games. Beetee and Wiress waved politely to the crowd, joined at the elbows. Finnick had his arm around Mags, Zelic and Amara had wound their arms around their spouse's waists, and Kilo was grasping Demi's hand even as she continued to pick at the rose Haymitch had given her. Districts 7 and 8 stood shoulder to shoulder. Stele allowed Olathe to grasp his wrist in her own time and August was nearly hugging Enid to him as if it could somehow shield her from what was to come. Crescere was holding onto the railing with Farrow's hand at the small of her back to keep her from falling.

In choosing the tributes from the existing pool of victors, Snow had unwittingly unified not only the districts with their own people, but all the districts against the Capitol. And somehow, Haymitch could see the fury on the president's face from far down on the street as Snow stood at the podium in front of the Justice Hall.

The displeasure he must have been feeling was hidden quite well while he went through his customary speech, but Haymitch wasn't fooled. The president was irate and the hammer was about to come down hard on all of them.

As the chariots returned to the tribute tunnel, Haymitch saw Cinna and Portia using a long, metal pole to run over his and Katniss's costumes so that the feathers went flat again and the remaining sparks died out. Effie congratulated them on another stunning entrance and ushered them to the elevator with the promise to join them for dinner to talk about strategy and sponsors before hurrying off to most likely gush to the other escorts about the success of her tributes.

They were joined on the elevator by Tyrek, Ramie, Finnick, and Mags. As they ascended, Mags turned her nearly toothless smile to Haymitch and patted his chest, which was the highest part of him she could reach, as a form of recognition.

"Always good to see you too," said Haymitch, hoping the old woman couldn't read it on his face how much he was hurting for her.

"I've got my eye on you, Abernathy. There's only room for one man in her life, and that's me," said Finnick with false bravado as Mags gave him a playful shove. Both he and Mags greeted Katniss and then stepped off on their floor, leaving Haymitch and Katniss alone with the victors from Eight.

Though their stylists had put them in enough textiles to look like they were wrapped in quilts four times over, Tyrek and Ramie did not seem any less intimidating. Her features were angular, her nose turned up as if to smell them. He stood at least two inches taller than Haymitch and age had done nothing to take away the cold, calculated look he reserved for the people he was about to kill.

"Birds of a feather," said Tyrek with a glance at Haymitch and Katniss's costumes. "I'm not entirely sure that was wise on your stylists' part."

"It's more memorable than looking like you're wearing enough blankets to prepare you for the next ice age," Haymitch shot back.

"It certainly is," Ramie agreed and Haymitch was uncomfortably aware of how her eyes strayed to his bare chest before settling on his crotch.

The elevator arrived on the eighth floor and Tyrek stepped off, calling back to Ramie over his shoulder, but when his district partner remained to stare pointedly at Haymitch's nether regions, Tyrek gave a shrug and went on without her.

"We don't have many opportunities left to get our fill of the human body, Haymitch. You know where to find me if you want to discuss this further," said Ramie, moving her hand forward so suddenly as if to grasp Haymitch's crotch that he threw himself back against the glass wall to avoid her. She cackled and stepped off the lift, but as the grilles slid shut, Haymitch refused to come away from the wall.

It had never occurred to him that sexual predators came from both genders since he always reminded himself of what had happened to Olathe, but bypassing her lethality with a garrote, Ramie was even more dangerous as a lust-filled woman looking to get her sexual fix before her life ended. Sex was her drug of choice and she needed it to survive, which would make her do insane things for it. Haymitch was not planning on letting her get that close again.

"You good?" asked Katniss and he knew she could see him guarding his groin, but he didn't care. He was only glad that Ramie had tried this tactic now, before the Games began so that he knew what to expect once he was inside.

"If you want, I'll make an effort to kill her first," said Katniss when they reached their floor and Haymitch was still glued to the glass.

"Ha, ha," said Haymitch without humor, and then followed her through the doors to their apartment where Peeta was already waiting for them.

"People are already approaching me, asking to sponsor you," said the boy, hugging Katniss to him.

"That was the plan. Way to go, sweetheart," said Haymitch, pleased at the audience's reaction to her costume.

" _Both_ of you, Haymitch. You made a lasting impression too. It got so crazy out there that I had to tell everyone to go straight to the Gamemakers headquarters and sign up because they were about to eat me alive in trying to profess their love for you guys. I mean, they were _rabid._ "

This was news to Haymitch, for he hadn't considered that people would want him to make it through to the end of the Games. It was reassuring, but also disturbing, for what purpose did these people want to serve in making sure he survived until it was just him and Katniss? Did they want to see the Girl on Fire kill her mentor, or did they want to see him nobly sacrifice himself for her? Or maybe Snow was influencing them, telling them to sponsor Haymitch so that he could snuff out Katniss's life and any stink of the rebellion since he was the only one who could get close enough to do it.

But Snow didn't know that Haymitch was a part of that rebellion too. Snow hadn't the faintest idea that his entire plan was about to come crashing down around him.


	3. Chapter 3: Training to Die

He had been given the instruction by way of his pea soup at the end of dinner. With cameras on him at nearly every waking moment, there was no other way to communicate the importance of the next few days to him without making it non-audible and disposable. So he quickly read the message that had been preserved at the bottom of his soup bowl, tipping the bowl to his mouth so as to read the miniscule words without seeming suspicious and no one would find this act questionable anyway because he had atrocious table manners.

The next morning, however, he had a tangible plan, a reasonable goal for each day of training. He just had to make sure Katniss was oblivious to it.

His training outfit consisted of a pair of mesh pants and a sleeveless top made of breathable material that showed off the biceps he had managed to gain under Katniss and Peeta's fierce training schedule since the announcement of the Quarter Quell. The sculpted contours of his muscles, though, paled in comparison to those on the male tributes from One and Two as well as Farrow's. Haymitch was simply smaller in stature.

On the elevator ride down into the new and improved Training Center, Haymitch couldn't help feeling self-conscious that he still had some of his beer belly, which his outfit did nothing to conceal. If anything, it made the bulge even more prominent. So lost was he in these thoughts of what the Careers might say or think to degrade him or weed him out as an easy target, that he forgot to speak to Katniss of their strategy. At the last minute, he told her to be familiar, approachable, but guarded. Let the other victors speak with her, try to figure her out, and see for themselves what she brought to the table.

Meanwhile, Haymitch would be choosing her allies for her.

The elevator doors had barely slid open when Haymitch found himself being hauled by Enid over to a glass wall that showed an enormous pool. The District 10 victor was only a year older than Katniss with striking ginger hair, but where the Capitol had forced Katniss into early adulthood, Enid still looked like she could pass for the young teenager who had been reaped. No doubt, Snow had tried to force her into prostitution like he had done with various other victors, but somehow, she had managed to avoid it. Inwardly, Haymitch didn't want to know what sort of deal her uncle, August, had had to make to spare her that fate.

"Have you ever seen so much water before?" asked Enid, knowing how Haymitch came from a very rural area and had never seen a large body of water, even if it was just a mile-long pool complete with a wave feature and creature simulation.

"Only when they broadcast sights from Four," said Haymitch.

"I want to jump in," said Enid excitedly.

"Then do it. You don't have much of an opportunity left to do things you've always wanted to."

"Come try it out."

"Not now," said Haymitch, but what he meant was _not ever_. Water terrified him if it came in any mass larger than that which would fill his flask. Unknown things lay beneath the water, hidden deep down where no light could shine to illuminate the blue world. No, Haymitch would not be going into the water today, or tomorrow, and most definitely not on the last day he would ever have the opportunity to. So he let Enid go running toward it on her own and leaping in with a child's glee. She surfaced immediately and began paddling in circles, testing her ability to stay afloat before attempting to swim distances.

"Not a fan of water, huh, Haymitch?" asked a rusty, slightly strained voice to his side and Enid's uncle, August joined Haymitch at the railing to oversee the pool.

"Not if it's deep enough to cover my head, no."

"Don't like swimming?"

"Don't like drowning."

"We're all drowning, idiot," said August without any hint of playful banter. "We all know these Games are rigged and that Snow did it so he has an excuse to get rid of your district partner, but the rest of us have to suffer for it, because she's a problem. All of us are going to die because your Girl on Fire has an attitude."

"We're all gonna die because her attitude helped people to think for themselves and not play along with what's happening," Haymitch countered. "She refused to be a chess piece to kill other kids, and they're punishing her for being human. I'd die for that cause any day."

"Oh, you're about to, my friend."

"I know; that's why I volunteered."

"Must be nice not having to worry about what Snow could do to the people you care about because with the two of you going into these Games, you don't have anyone left. Isn't it because Snow punished you when _you_ developed an attitude?"

"Go to hell, August. I'm in these Games to protect someone I care about, same as you, but unlike if your intended victor wins, if _my_ intended victor wins, there'll still be a cause to fight for in the districts. It'll mean something if Katniss wins. If it's anyone else, it's just another victor to add to the other seventy-four, and everyone who's ever died by order of the Capitol will be dead for no good damn reason, so you go to hell."

Haymitch turned away from the pool just as Cashmere and Gloss streaked past him to go jump in and join Enid. And right behind them was Finnick who made a graceful dive into the pool, surfacing beside Enid and spewing water out of his mouth at her like a fountain. He began to show her how to perform a simple breaststroke that would enable her to move through the water fastest, given her strength and body type. Though she faltered a few times, Finnick swam right alongside her until she got the hang of it and then advanced to a more difficult technique. On the opposite side, Cashmere and Gloss were taking turns diving to try and retrieve glowing sticks they threw into the bottom of the pool. Of the two of them, Gloss was definitely the better swimmer, for Cashmere had difficulty withstanding the pressure further down than eight feet.

Remaining only long enough to embed Finnick's swimming techniques in his head, Haymitch left and returned to the main training facility where the rest of the victors had split into small groups to test out alliances. Katniss was being taught how to camouflage herself by Ramie, which made Haymitch bristle with annoyance. She knew that Haymitch didn't want to ally himself with District 8, and yet here she was, making friends with people Haymitch had already planned to kill off early so as to avoid losing the allies he actually wanted.

Catching his eye, Katniss mouthed something like _you're welcome_ and then jerked her head at the close combat station where Zelic and Amara were practicing how to not run straight into the other person's weapon. Amara accidentally swung too wide and clipped Zelic across the ear with her wooden spear butt. To her credit, Zelic was not fast enough to dodge it and had gotten in too close anyway, but as he lay nursing the cut to his ear, Haymitch found the perfect opportunity to intervene, ask questions, and maybe brush up on his rusty combative skills.

"This is why I'm still amazed you two won your Games because neither of you knows the first thing about hand-on-hand combat," said Haymitch good-naturedly.

"We all have our skills. Mine is knowing how to hotwire a long-dead car, Amara's is having a good throwing arm, and yours is not being as stupid as some of your other competitors," said Zelic, accepting Haymitch's help up.

"But I survived by killing multiple people with weapons meant to slice and cut. You both won because everyone else did that dirty work for you. It helps to at least be familiar with everyone else's techniques so that you know something about avoiding them. I'll show you what I remember if you're up for teaching me the delicate arts of turning on a vehicle and throwing things."

He didn't have much to boast about. The last quarter of a century was spent sleeping with a knife in hand, but he could never have attacked anything if he tried, not in his physical state. He was long out of practice, but the side training in District 12 had helped, however little, so that he didn't look like a complete fool. He remembered his defensive stance, the way to duck and weave if he didn't possess enough strength to match a bigger opponent's attack, and he was fair at offensive tactics, but across from them, Brutus and Farrow were training in the same way, though with much more finesse and success. It became too depressing watching the larger men throw their weight around, so Haymitch and the married couple moved on to the terrain simulator that changed the type of terrain underfoot in quick succession so that you had to adapt quickly and pick out safe patches to run through or risk being throw off, which was the equivalent of falling and breaking a limb in the arena.

Zelic went first, jogging over asphalt and then ice, then jungle floor, quickly back to ice, and finally deceptive sand that had hidden patches of quicksand throughout. The quicksand swallowed his ankle and he was bucked off the simulator where he hit one of the crash mats on the side to the loud, blaring sound of a failure.

"Announce it to the whole training center, why don't you?" Zelic ranted at the simulator, and then mounted it again to have another go.

"Determined, isn't he?" Haymitch observed as Amara watched her husband struggle through dense forest with volcanic extract trailing on his heels.

"He wants to be good at something that he can use to outsmart the Careers," said Amara. "Something they don't already know he can do. And he's a fast learner, but he's just adequate at everything he tries. He's not an expert at anything, so he has no strong points, and he's afraid I'll die protecting him because he's not good enough."

"Will you?" asked Haymitch as Zelic was tossed off again after splashing face-first into a non-existent bog.

"I'll die anyway, but I'd rather it be from sacrifice instead of losing a fight. I'd take the bullet for him, but I know he'd turn right back around and take it for me instead, so we're at a stalemate. We're just going to get as far as we can and then, if we have the option to kill our friends or win, we'll end it on our own terms."

"So you'd choose suicide over victory."

"If it meant avoiding killing those people we've come to care about, yes."

"Then if you're prepared to do that, no matter the circumstances, wouldn't it be worth it to help someone win who could do something in the aftermath?" asked Haymitch carefully, and was pleased to see Amara catch his drift.

"If we both got that far and that person was still alive, yes, we would help however we could. But neither of us are going to keep going if the other goes down. I'm not going anywhere without him, and he won't keep going if I'm gone. Just so you know that."

"I do, and I respect that."

"Then count us in."

Admittedly, Haymitch had been nervous about asking this duo to join his cause because, like the other tributes who cared for their district partners, he thought they would be bent on helping the other become victor. But Zelic and Amara cared far more about being together than helping the other survive, which was something Haymitch admired and found disturbing. How would it feel to love someone so deeply that you refused to live without them, even if your life would help other people?

In an effort to distance his thoughts from any emotion, Haymitch joined Johanna at the axe-throwing station where she was practicing with everything from a pocket-sized axe that was switch activated to a double-sided monster of a weapon that even Brutus might have had trouble wielding, though Johanna still gave it a try. Watching her nearby was Blight, looking bored, but not being able to connect with anyone enough to try and make friends.

For a while Johanna ignored Haymitch as she went through her motions, but when Haymitch moved to start practicing with one of her axes, she pulled her weapons away. "Get your own."

"These are for everyone to use and since you're hogging all of them, I need one to practice with."

"I would have thought you'd want to stay away from axes after your first Games," said Johanna, pulling the cart of weapons closer to her still so that Haymitch couldn't take one.

Thrown mentally back into his first time in the arena, Haymitch rubbed a hand subconsciously over his midsection where Gossamer, the last remaining Career from District 1, had opened him from hip to hip with her axe blade. It was this weapon that nearly ended his life, this weapon he had dodged, only to have it come back up and impale Gossamer upon her own sword (or axe). It was this weapon that firmly sealed the fate of Haymitch's family back home, so yes, he had no love of axes, especially those wielded by women, but he wasn't trying to get his hands on one. He only wanted the support of the woman who knew how to use it.

"I prefer swords, that's true."

"You should use your force field, like last time. You know how it works just fine."

"It'll be a cold day in hell when I decided to use a weapon I'm not supposed to have again."

Johanna laughed and let her axe fall to the floor with a loud clang.

"Finding that force field was the best thing that ever could have happened to you, Haymitch. Snow killed your family for it. He didn't make you prostitute yourself to save them and then end up killing them anyway when you decided you'd had enough. Not everyone was lucky enough to avoid that. I can name ten victors in this room, including myself, who had to give up our bodies to avoid punishment from the Capitol. It didn't really start until around the fortieth Games, but those who didn't have to go through with it owe it to something or someone else protecting them. Like Zelic and Amara, getting married the year after her Games or August bartering with Snow to preserve Enid. There was no one noteworthy to come to my rescue, though, and let's face it; I was the only desirable one from Seven anyway because who in their right mind was going to want to sleep with someone named Blight? Would _you_ want to sleep around with someone whose name means 'disease'? His parents really did him a solid on that one. No offense, sweetie," she called over to Blight with a note of sarcasm, and Haymitch wanted to tell her off for verbally abusing her district partner when he had clearly already given up on any hope of survival himself.

"Lay off him. He doesn't need anyone else telling him that he's undesirable."

"Oh, he's fine. He knows it and he knows everyone else knows it. It doesn't bother him because again, he got to keep his virginity—or at least, do what he wanted with it. Not like the rest of us who had to give it up over and over again to keep someone alive. So you're one lucky bastard, Haymitch, because Snow had no way to keep a hold on you after you won. You're still as innocent as Blight over there in the sexual department."

Fuming that Johanna thought having your family murdered outright was somehow less evil, more fair than being forced into prostitution, only to have them be murdered later, Haymitch wanted to strike her over the head with one of those axes she so dearly loved to handle, but in a way, she was right. He didn't know what it was like to surrender your body to someone else under threat of death.

"I can see the question coming that you want to know who else is no longer in possession of their v-card, and it's not my place to say because the Capitol took everything else, so they should have the decision to tell you or not, but you're going to end up making a fool of yourself and everyone here and probably get us all in trouble for asking around, so listen up, because I'm not going to repeat the list. Gloss, Cashmere, Brutus, Finnick, Kilo, me, Tyrek, Stele, August, Farrow. And before you ask, Olathe doesn't count because she never got paid for it, and Ramie doesn't count because Snow didn't have to threaten her when she nearly threw herself at the first available buyer. So that's us, the little band of prostitutes, sex slaves, and whores. And we all did it because we were stupid enough to think that Snow would keep his promise. So some of us finally said no, and we lost our families for it. Some of us kept doing it, to protect someone else."

What was Haymitch supposed to say now? That he was sorry for her lot in life? That he thought Katniss's survival could make up for all the ways in which she and the other tributes had been wronged? Maybe that approach would work on someone else, but not Johanna, so Haymitch walked away, leaving her to her target practice.

He had no clear idea where he would go next or who he would try to persuade because this business of convincing people to die for Katniss while accepting that they were going to have to sacrifice their district partners, was very draining on him. It was a challenge he hadn't foreseen, not to this level.

He stopped as he heard a soft cry of exasperation.

"Do you even hear me talking to you?" pleaded Kilo's voice from the animal skinning corner. There was a desperate tone that Haymitch had never heard the male victor use before as he constantly snatched Demi's hands away from the knife she was trying to stab a fake rabbit carcass with. "Demi, I can't do this on my own. I need to know that you're there."

It took all of Haymitch's willpower to not just walk away and swallow his words, but if Kilo-who had known Demi before and after, who had mentored her and seen to it that she received proper care after her accident-couldn't bring her back, no one could, and he was only wasting his breath and time trying to recall the girl who had died when she struck her head.

Watching Kilo try to reach Demi told Haymitch that he had nothing left to spend on emotional ties with someone who could return them. He was on Johanna's list of desirable victors, and that was probably half of what drove him to use morphling, but he had pulled himself out of it on his own, dedicated his life to being Demi's provider.

"She's not there, and you've known it for years, Kilo," said Haymitch quietly, kneeling in front of them. "Her body won by default, but her brain, the part that made her Demi, it never came out of that arena. I know it's hard for you to accept that, especially now, but you know she's not going to make it and if she could see herself in this state, she'd ask you to end it. This is no way for anyone to live, not even someone you care about."

"That's easy for you to say when you've never had to worry about people spitting on your fellow victor for what she is," said Kilo coldly. "Katniss is the Capitol's darling, fierce, in love, dedicated, talented. You'll never have to see people look at her the way I have to see people look at Demi. They don't want her because she can't smile and wave to the audience that helped her survive. It wasn't her fault; she didn't choose for this to happen, but they all act like she did."

Demi looked over to Haymitch as if just noticing that he was there, and started to play with his hair by twisting strands around her finger and trying to make them retain a curl. Disengaging her from his hair, Haymitch guided her hands to the fake carcass and had her run her fingers through the rabbit fur.

"She's been gone for a long time. The best thing, the kindest thing you could do for her, is to let her go. However it happens once the gong sounds, she won't feel it or even know it's happening. Nothing can hurt her now, except continuing to live when her brain and her heart have already left."

Kilo shook his head forcefully and drew his legs up to his chest, away from the carcass and from Demi, though tears were working their way down his face. "She's all I have," he said hopelessly.

"You have hope. You have a reason to hate the Capitol, for the way they've treated her when they should have provided for her, tried to bring her mind back. Make them pay for how they never took action and never cared enough to help her," said Haymitch, knowing that he had Kilo exactly where the man needed to be.

"And how do I do that? By helping her win?"

"Not her," said Haymitch pointedly, and from the way Kilo's eyes flickered toward the place where Katniss was being taught how to weave bamboo into a shelter by Mags, Haymitch knew that Kilo had gotten his message.

"Snow won't let her win. He'll tell the Gamemakers to rig it so that she's one of the first ones dead."

"He can suggest it to the Gamemakers, but not all of them are… _inclined_ to obey," said Haymitch, hoping he didn't need to say anything else.

Kilo's eyes grew wide in realization, then he turned his attention to Demi who had managed to completely stuff the fake meat back into the rabbit in the hopes of making it come back to life. He lowered his head to undo her mistake, but Haymitch heard him when he muttered, "Okay."

Three. Haymitch had tried with several districts and now, nearing the end of the day, he had managed to convince three to help him. His attempt with August had failed miserably, his efforts to make friends with Johanna had backfired, and by allying himself with Kilo, he was only getting half of the district because Demi didn't even count anymore. Hoping Katniss had made better progress, Haymitch trudged off to find her when he saw Stele demonstrating a proper disengaging hold to Olathe.

Stele was acting as the victim, Olathe the attacker, but instructing her where to put her hands so that he could effectively throw her off. It was a tactful technique to show her, especially given her history, but if she was seized in the arena by a man, her mind would shut down and she wouldn't be able to escape her assailant, let alone perform simple tasks. Still, she looked keen to learn the hold that would break her opponent's arm and performed it until Stele had to tap out on the crash mat that made up the wrestling area.

Grinning in a somewhat pleased fashion, Olathe took a break to get some water and Haymitch offered her a canteen from the refreshment cart. Had it been anyone else, he knew she would have balked at his approach, but given how he had helped her during the chariot ride, he knew she would at least tolerate his presence. Her district partner, maybe not so much.

"What do you want, Abernathy?"

And here was another victim of sexual abuse, most likely stemmed from his refusal to allow Snow to make Olathe someone else's plaything. It must have been following her Games, preceding the attack from the tribute she helped mentor, that Snow proposed her deflowering to Stele, but Stele, like August, had taken his district partner's place to save their dignity. That hatred was something Haymitch could use, if only he could convince Stele to side with him and Katniss.

"I just wanted to ask the two of you some questions—"

"We're busy, as you can see. Unlike some, we don't have the luxury of being district partners with the Capitol darling, so we have a lot more training to do to make up for the lack of sponsors. So if you don't mind…"

"The way you're acting isn't going to help keep her safe at all," barked Haymitch, but Stele had no time to throw out a rebuttal, for Brutus and Gloss had just come up to the crash mats, demanding a quick match with Stele. Behind them, Enobaria and Cashmere were casting their eyes up and down Olathe with delight.

"It's amusing getting a chance to feel up your district partner, but how about you take on an opponent more your size?" challenged Gloss.

"Watch your mouth," Stele warned.

"Just walk away, please," said Olathe in a small voice, tugging at Stele's arm, but the Careers knew how to play Stele just right to get a reaction out of him. It wasn't that hard, honestly, because anyone with eyes could see that Stele was dedicated to Olathe, far beyond a simple body guard and it was painful to watch because everyone knew that due to her fear of being touched by men now, Olathe could never reciprocate Stele's affections.

"I can see why you chose to wrestle all day, Nine. This is as close as you're ever going to get to being in bed with her."

Haymitch swiped for Stele to stop him, but the latter was already running onto the mat, swinging at Gloss. The Career from One was taller, stronger, and younger, and he used all of these advantages to drive his open palm into Stele's chest, clench around the skin to be found there, and slam Stele back-first into the crash mat.

Olathe squealed in fright as Stele's legs came up to nearly clip Gloss in the back of the head with the impact of hitting the mats so hard. He lay too winded to move, splayed out and choking from what was sure to be a bruised chest. Enobaria and Brutus had a laugh at his expense and then rounded on Olathe who was looking like she was fighting a raging battle inside her from the sidelines, clawing at her face in anticipation as she contemplated facing her fear now to go to Stele's aid, or backing off to save herself the frightening episode.

"Might be smart to invest in a better bodyguard before the gong sounds, honey," said Cashmere. "This one looks a bit burnt out. But then, I hear you move through men fast."

"Shut up," said Haymitch, not quite pushing Olathe behind him, but forming a solid human wall between her and the Careers who knew how to mentally pick a person apart.

"If you ally yourself with all of these people who've gone off the deep end, you're going to be the most respected dead man the Games has ever seen, Haymitch," said Gloss. "That empty piece of flesh you're protecting right there is going to die quick and if you insist on protecting her, that's your loss. No one in their right mind is going to be sponsoring her, so why should you go to the trouble of defending her?"

"Because not everyone was as lucky as you when they came out of their Games. You never gave a shit about anything in your life besides winning, which makes you the perfect Capitol pet, but some of us still know what it's like to be human. I guarantee you, though, when you're in that arena and you're forced to watch your sister die or take the bullet for her, you're not going to find it so easy to choose."

"Keep talking, Abernathy, and you might just earn yourself and that brain-dead slut a few souvenirs to take with you into the Games," said Cashmere.

"You want her, come have a go," Haymitch invited, but before any of the Careers could make a move, Zelic, Amara, Johanna, Blight, Kilo, and Katniss had formed a protective line in front of Haymitch and Olathe. The training monitors called them off and ordered them to disperse about the rest of the stations, but Haymitch refused to leave Olathe until the Careers had firmly staked out at the rope tying section. Before moving away, Johanna gave Haymitch a hard shove and then a nod that spoke for both her and Blight. Heartened by their decision to become allies, Haymitch continued to stand guard by Olathe until Stele had regained his feet and trudged back over to Olathe who ran to him, hands barely brushing against his skin as she checked for injuries.

The two of them exchanged an unspoken conversation in which Stele grasped Olathe's hands and squeezed them in as loving a gesture as he knew she would allow. He caught Haymitch's eye and said, "Nine is with you."

Stele and Olathe agreed to die for Katniss. However Stele had interpreted Haymitch's defense of Olathe, it had been enough for both of them to give up any hope for survival to see Katniss make it out alive. In all honesty, Stele was one of the victors Haymitch had suspected he would have to murder outright due to the latter's overly protective nature, but Stele must have thoroughly believed in Haymitch's cause if he was willing to let Olathe die for it.

All of the people Haymitch had convinced so far had to thoroughly trust that Katniss could lead a rebellion if they were prepared to lay down their lives instead of fighting until the end to try and win and effectively make changes to the system themselves. And though seven was far less than the number Haymitch was hoping for, it was a start.

After all, he still had two more days of training and preparing to have himself, along with almost everyone else, die.


	4. Chapter 4: Making Do

"How did training go?" asked Effie brightly over dinner.

Piling a thick, roasted side of beef, creamy heaps of buttered mashed potatoes, a large selection of steamed vegetables, and a simmering waterfall of chunky, hearty gravy onto two enormous slices of bread, Haymitch made himself a sandwich and began to cram it into his mouth while keeping eye contact with Effie.

"You couldn't have waited to take that bite until after answering my question?" she said irritably.

Haymitch shook his head, struggling to close his mouth with the amount of food he had packed in, but enjoying the sight of Effie already looking fed up with him.

"Let's start with you, Katniss. Did you make any friends?"

"Allies," said Katniss. "I won't get to know these people long enough for us to become friends. But my allies are friends with Haymitch. I tried to bond with One, but they already know I don't run with the Career pack, so that was a waste of time. Tried out Ten and Enid liked me easily enough, but her uncle just scowled at me all day. Beetee and Wiress are a sure thing, though. If there's anything in the arena that involves electricity, it'd be nice to have Beetee around."

"Wiress could prove to be useful as well," said Portia.

"Yeah, but I felt like she was just tagging along with whatever Beetee agreed to. She's nice, but 'nice' doesn't help me in the arena as much as knowledge about technology does," said Katniss strategically.

"Saw you wiff Ramie," Haymitch interjected, having finally made a dent in the food stock piled in his mouth.

"That was for you. After the elevator incident, I figured you'd want as much space between the two of you as possible, so I tried to keep her occupied and she seemed interested in following me around anyway, though she flirted with almost everyone along the way."

"Well, that strategy won't work as well this time around," said Effie haughtily and Haymitch was amused to hear the tone in her voice that suggested she disliked Ramie making sexual advances toward him. Clueless as she was and determined for everyone to believe that she disliked him, Effie was still fiercely protective of Haymitch (probably because she believed him to be too drunk to understand that he was being taken advantage of half the time).

"She's a survivor; she'll find a way to play the arena to her advantage, just like all of the other victors," said Cinna. "I just hope someone takes her out before she gets a chance to try out her luck on television, as it were."

"I don't follow," said Katniss, looking from Cinna to Effie, expecting an explanation.

"He means that he doesn't want to see Ramie try and erm, manipulate anyone on camera because that's not something the audience wants to see. The Gamemakes will cut away to different footage if she does, but it's just like when someone says a curse word live; it's edited out of the program."

"Yeah, because killing people's a lot less disturbing than seeing people rape each other and swear. Kids today need to learn that it's a hell of a lot better to cut someone's head off than to say 'fuck' on live television," said Haymitch scathingly. "We wouldn't want anyone getting the wrong impression."

"Really, that's inappropriate," said Effie from across the table. She was chewing on the inside of her lower lip as she always did when Haymitch breached a subject that shouldn't be discussed, but what the hell did he care? He was going to die on camera anyway, so there was no point in censoring himself for her any longer.

"Do you ever listen to the words coming out of your mouth, Effie, or does it all just naturally blend into one cohesive load of garbage? I refuse to believe that you can go a year of knowing Katniss and Peeta and not see the problem with these Games, especially now that Katniss is going into the arena again. Ask yourself: if the Capitol had to send its own children into the Games, would you want to see them kill each other? Would you care about them editing out curses when you see twelve year old children having their guts ripped out?"

"Haymitch, you can't say things like that," said Cinna nervously, watching the red-headed Avox who stood nearby.

"They're gonna throw everything they've got at us victors anyway, Cinna, so I don't plan on wasting my breath while I've still got it. If they hear me, fine. No one else is. At least they'll know that I think the whole system isn't worth yellow piss."

"I seem to have lost my appetite," said Effie, rising from the table.

"And we all know what a shame that is," Haymitch retorted, watching her leave. When she had gone, Katniss hit him in the arm.

"She was trying to help."

"She was trying to get on my last nerve. I've listened to that woman talk about her fancy Capitol shit for eight years now, but I've always had to keep my mouth shut because saying anything out loud would get me executed. But it doesn't matter now, does it? And they can't just get rid of me before the Games, so they'll make sure I'll die slow once I'm inside, just to prove that they're still in power. And that'll show me, won't it?"

Haymitch reached for the dessert platter and stuffed a pastry into his mouth, daring Katniss to contradict him, and when she didn't, Haymitch excused himself to his room. He didn't have the restraint to not tear his room apart, though, so after only a minute of pacing, he decided that he needed air, and went up to the rooftop, only to find it occupied already.

Effie was standing at the railing, leaning forward to watch the city traffic below, so Haymitch figured he could back away while she was occupied, but she had heard him open the door and turned to greet him. If he had truly upset her, he would never have known, for she looked as chipper and boisterous as usual.

"Oh, come see, Haymitch. They're playing the Tribute Parade on the screen in the City Circle. I can see the faces from here!"

Resigned to appeasing her, Haymitch joined her at the railing to see his own face projected on a screen the size of a five-story building. He could only imagine how big it would look in person to the people walking the street below it. It did give him a small amount of satisfaction in imagining his enormous, scowling face glaring down at the citizens of Panem's Capitol.

He glanced sideways and saw that Effie was clearly waiting for him to say something so he cleared his throat and said quite lamely, "Yeah, um…that is…uh, that's really something."

Effie gave an impatient sigh and turned her back to the railing, using it as a support for her back as she faced inward to view the rooftop garden. "Well, you tried," she said sycophantically.

Feeling that now was as good of an opportunity as he was going to get to apologize, Haymitch picked at his teeth and continued, "Yeah, so listen, Effie, about what I said at dinner, I uh—"

"There's no need to apologize, my inebriated friend. I've been able to deflect your insults with ease for quite a while now. I simply didn't want to endure them any longer than I had to."

"No, it was rude and uncalled for, especially since I know you're not happy about this arrangement either, and not just because you're losing one of your star victors. You're upset, I know, and I'm not making it easy on you."

"You never do, but up until last year, I was used to managing the entire team myself, so to have had you on board, I appreciate your efforts."

Now feeling like a complete idiot, Haymitch watched his likeness evolve into a mockingjay alongside Katniss on the screens below. The wind made the roof slightly chilly, but he enjoyed the breeze after spending the past twenty-four hours inside. His opportunities to breathe actual oxygen from the living world were so limited that he was determined to spend as much time atop this roof as he was allowed.

"Well, it's getting late and I have several potential sponsors to meet with tomorrow during your training, so I will be going now. Are you coming back down?"

"No, I'll stay up here a while."

"Wrap yourself up so you don't catch cold," said Effie, sounding rather motherly instead of pushy for once.

"Will do."

"Yes, well…good night, Haymitch."

"Night, Effie."

Only when she had gone did Haymitch consider her words more carefully. _I appreciate your efforts_. Was that a subtle dig at Haymitch's mundane attempt to contribute something positive this year, or was it a bonafide compliment coming from someone who didn't know how to give one without it being slightly backhanded?

He shook out his head and slapped his face a few times to clear his thoughts. Tomorrow was another day of training and he had more important issues than the whiplash quality of Effie Trinket's mood.

/ /

After seeing the pool the Capitol had provided, Haymitch had a nagging suspicion that swimming would play a major role in the arena, but since Cashmere and Gloss once again headed straight there and he wanted as little to do with them as possible, he had to avoid the area and instead focus on some less exerting tasks like hammock-making, which he was surprisingly good at. He experimented with everything from jackets to tarps, from giant leaves to vines. Crescere joined him and together they managed to come up with a rather impressive invention of metal sheets that warped under intense heat, an old blanket, and a horse bridle.

"I can't imagine in what arena all three of these materials would be available to us, but at least our creative cogs are working," said Crescere brightly once they had finished.

"You won't have to worry much about fending for yourself in terms of finding shelter. Farrow has your back," Haymitch pointed out as he tested the hammock and rested his hands behind his head while it swung with the weight of him.

"Sadly, no, he doesn't."

Haymitch sat up so suddenly that he toppled out of the hammock and hit the dirt, causing Tyrek and Enobaria to snigger as they stood at the spear-throwing station. Dusting himself off, Haymitch leaned in closer to ask, "What do you mean he doesn't?"

"I've asked him to not worry about me and concentrate instead on getting rid of his bigger competition, emphasis on _bigger_ ," said Crescere simply. "Namely the Career pack males and Tyrek. He needs to be in peak fighting condition and he can't achieve that if he's constantly weighted down with the worry of protecting an old woman."

"That's barbaric and cold-blooded," said Haymitch. "He'd never be able to go back to Eleven if he left you right from the start. Your son—"

"Is aware of what I'm asking Farrow to do. The two of them have always been the best of friends, but I knew what I was doing when I volunteered to come back into the arena and I've lived a good life in being able to have a son. That friendship he and Farrow have helped Farrow through his first Games and in the post-Games depression. My son values Farrow more than anyone else in this world and a mother would do anything for her son's happiness—at least, any mother worth her salt. But I don't want you going around with the impression that Farrow refused to defend me in the arena; I specifically asked him to take care of himself, however necessary. He's hoping that his victory will help calm the storm in Eleven, but I think he knows it'll never really happen. In truth, though, I highly doubt he will win, which is something I knew from the moment they called his name for the reaping. I knew the likely competition and it's worse than it could have been with all the physically fit victors as well as those few Farrow became friends with. I volunteered for Baley, knowing that both of the tributes from Eleven were going to die, but I nurtured hope that I can convince Farrow to contribute to something bigger than Eleven."

There was no mistaking the point she was trying to make and Haymitch was relieved to discover that he didn't have to work particularly hard in making an alliance with her. He could rely on her to relay the message to Farrow, but whether or not her district partner would agree was another matter. Having Farrow as an opponent would be disappointing to say the least since he, along with Tyrek, Gloss, and Brutus, were larger than anyone who had agreed to fight with him and Katniss. Throw August in for good measure, and Haymitch was certain that it would be a suicidal and impossible task to protect Katniss once the gong rang.

"Don't you worry," said Crescere comfortingly. "Even if Farrow doesn't agree with me, he'll still want to take out the Careers first, which would leave your way clear."

"You're talking about sacrificing your surrogate son," said Haymitch, though not without admiration.

"And you're talking about sacrificing yourself, all for something that is more powerful than any one of us. We do it for love, Haymitch, and because the alternative is to kill our loved ones ourselves."

She left him to go and join Kilo and Demi at the edible insect station.

Haymitch wandered around, observing the more physically intimidating tributes showing off their skills while the less impressive ones tried to hide behind quieter crafts. He found himself at a station that had been devised of an entirely new system of detecting bombs and setting off explosives. Instead of simply fiddling with wires to try and detonate an explosion, there were various ways to hack into the bomb's controlled alarm. You could answer a series of pre-set questions or insert a certain type of DNA. One particularly tricky device involved listening to a musical string of notes all of which lit up on differently shaped patches on a motherboard. After the notes played and lit up their respective patches, you had to correctly copy back the melody on the correct patches or the detonation would blow you up—or in the case of the simulation, blare loudly to announce to the entire training center that you had failed.

He listened to the pattern of increasingly difficult notes, anticipating that he would fail at any moment, but the melody became hardwired in his brain until he could hear nothing else and as the final thirty-note sequence played, he quickly punched in the correct notes verbatim. A pleasant _ding_ announced that he had completed the simulation, but then Haymitch had to wonder what in the world this would be useful for. In what sort of arena would he have to mimic a musical sequence to avoid being blown up? Nothing was so straightforward in the Games, nor were the tributes given proper training for any one specific thing related to their arena.

As he began to listen to the next pattern, he felt a hand sneak around and grasp his groin. Yelping like he had been beaten, Haymitch spun around and shoved at his assailant, readying his fists since they were his only weapons. With her pointed jawline and cold, flat grey eyes, Ramie laughed at him.

"My, my, _my_ , but aren't we jumpy? Call me crazy, but I get the distinct impression that you've never actually been touched down there before, Haymitch. Mind if I examine the results of my first venture?"

"Try it and I'll smash your teeth in with this," Haymitch promised, brandishing the box that substituted as the simulation bomb. "Try it in the arena and it'll be your brains instead of your teeth."

"My teeth are going to be on you one way or another after the gong rings, and not like how Enobaria's would if she got close enough. Be happy in the knowledge that you'll get to have at least one sexual encounter before you die, honey. As long as I don't eat you, there's no rule that says I can't have my way with you. I mean, after all, look at what nearly happened to Olathe, and did the Gamemakers kill the tribute that did that to her? No, they didn't, because they don't care. So when we meet on the battlefield, I would be a bit nicer and more compliant because if you're not willing, it's not fun—for you, at least. Bye, bye now."

Ramie gave him a sarcastic wave and sauntered off, but Haymitch was determined to have the last say.

"If the rules don't apply to us in the arena, they won't apply here, so come on back and have a go, I will knock you on your ass!" Haymitch called after her, but then he found Mags's hand on his heart, patting it in a determined fashion and then pointing out Katniss at the neighboring station.

"I know, I know, and I am focusing on helping her," said Haymitch. "But I'm not going to let Ramie weed me out like she did to all those tributes during her first Games. Even if the Gamemakers let audiences see what she does this time, I'm not going to be the one they see it happening to, and I'm going to make damn sure that she doesn't get a chance to do it to anyone else."

Mags gave him a small smile and once again put her hand to his chest, right above his heart. She then touched the tip of her old, gnarled finger to his head so that he would be sure to get her meaning. _Think with your head, not your heart, but don't let that stop you from doing what's right._

Going on a vengeance-filled spree of plowing through the arena just to kill Ramie for molesting him was not exactly wrong, but it didn't help Katniss, and even if part of his reason for doing it was to spare any other tributes from falling into Ramie's hands, he had a bigger agenda to attend to, which meant that the other tributes would have to fend for themselves. Still, he didn't like the thought of leaving people like Olathe, Demi, Kilo, Beetee, and Wiress to Ramie.

"What're you two ladies up to now?" asked Finnick as he joined them and placed a tender kiss on Mags's white head of hair.

"Well, I was about to get myself kicked out of the Training Center for going after Ramie, but Mags talked me out of it," said Haymitch.

"Really, and did she also tell you that I'd be willing to teach you some swimming techniques if you teach me how to fight with a knife?" asked Finnick wryly, and Haymitch knew the former was actually looking for a chance to speak to Haymitch alone since there was nothing Haymitch knew how to do physically that Finnick didn't know how to do better. A knife was simply a weapon Haymitch had once used; he was by no means an expert in it, but Finnick was an expert swimmer, so Haymitch decided to start there.

Mags decided to watch them while fashioning fish hooks out of various bits and bobs, so she stood at the railing as Finnick led Haymitch to the edge of the pool. There were no steps or shallow end to gradually get used to the water; you just had to jump right in and hope that you floated.

With his shoes swapped out for boots that helped his feet propel him through the water, Haymitch stood at the rim, staring down into the crystal clear surface as Cashmere and Gloss splashed nearby.

"You just gotta do it, or you'll stand there for the rest of your life," said Finnick. "The best way to get over something is to take the plunge—literally. And as soon as you jump in, hold your breath, wait for the water to push you back up, and then start treading. Move your arms like this," Finnick demonstrated what he meant by sweeping his arms horizontally in front of him. "Even if you panic, you're still going to float, as long as you don't let water in your lungs. For as long as you have air, you're going to stay above the water. And don't worry; I'll rescue you if anything other than that happens."

Water lapped over Haymitch's ankles from the wave simulation that had just started and though District 1 looked like they were enjoying themselves by riding the waves, it made Haymitch all the more reluctant to get in.

"I can push you if you want," Finnick offered.

"Just don't let One see me struggling if I start to drown," said Haymitch, and then stepped off, plunging straight down into the pool. He opened his eyes and something stung so that he quickly had to shut them again. Instinct told him to kick his legs and shoot for the surface, and when he broke through into the air, a wave came up to smack him in the face. He immediately swallowed a mouthful of something that tasted strongly of chemicals before he felt something shoved into his hands.

"It's a life preserve," said Finnick, arriving beside him. "It's harder to learn how to swim in choppy water like this, but still good practice, so just hold onto this and keep your mouth shut every time a wave comes by. Don't kick too hard or tense your muscles; you'll get a cramp. Save your energy for when the water's calm because that's when we're going to get rid of the buoy."

Trying not to be sick with the motion of the waves lifting and then throwing his body backward, Haymitch waited for them to subside, but when they had, he was reluctant to let go of his flotation device so that Finnick had to pry it from his fingers. Finnick started him on some backstrokes to get used to floating on his back and not panicking as water seeped into his ears. Twenty minutes of this followed by an additional twenty minutes of the breast stroke left Haymitch feeling marginally better about being caught in a large body of water as he observed Stele and Olathe bobbing nearby.

"What do you want to practice next?" asked Finnick. "We could do some breathing exercises and get you used to holding your air for as long as possible, or we could go through the fight or flight simulation where one of those weighted nets above us gets dropped down and you have to escape it while keeping calm."

"As tempting as that sounds, I'll pass."

Finnick dragged him out of the pool so that he could get a feel for standing up again and then he held up one of the diving sticks.

"No," said Haymitch. "I don't know how to dive."

"And an hour ago, you didn't know how to swim. It's easy. Arms together, legs together, point your body downward, and lean. You'll glide right through the water, then open up all your limbs and do your breast stroke, but down, as if you're pulling at the water. Keep your legs wide, don't flutter kick."

"And try not to die," called Cashmere from where she and Gloss were finally leaving the pool.

"You got it?" asked Finnick.

"No."

"Good, now fetch." He tossed the diving stick over his shoulder. "The faster you dive in, the faster you can catch it so you won't have to swim as deep."

Haymitch copied the pose Finnick showed him and hit the water, though it was more of a belly-flop than a dive. He wrenched his eyes open again now that they had gotten over the sting of the chemicals, and saw the glowing stick sinking quickly to the bottom. With a small burst of speed and strength, he caught the tip between two fingers and then shot up for the surface. He had just inhaled a fresh gulp of air when he felt something scratchy and heavy land on him and the second before he was pushed underwater, he could make out the firm fibers of one of those weighted nets Finnick was talking about.

The net dropped down onto him and the weights on the end made it so that he couldn't even fight his way free before he began to sink. He allowed himself ten seconds before panic set in and he struggled to wriggle out of the net's grasp, but before he could contemplate what a watery death would feel like, hands were working the net off of him, clutching him around the waist, and propelling him up. As he coughed and spluttered for air, one hand left his waist to guide him back to the wall and once there, he found himself being hauled out by Stele and Zelic.

Medical personal rushed in to assess his condition but besides a sting to his pride, he was not wounded in the slightest. They called the net dropping a technical malfunction, but Cashmere and Gloss were now nowhere near the pool and Haymitch didn't have to guess who had been the cause of the _malfunction_.

He looked about for Finnick to thank him for coming to his aid when he saw Olathe lifting herself out of the water with ease, tossing back her raven hair and wringing it out.

"Don't look so surprised. We have a lake in our district that children learned to swim in and those who didn't were often rescued by her," said Stele, smirking in admiration of his district partner.

Katniss had joined the group of victors who had come to investigate the source of commotion, leading to further embarrassment on Haymitch's part as his competition saw him still recovering from his near-death experience during training, of all things.

"What happened?" asked Katniss.

"District 1 happened," Haymitch muttered. "And I'm done with swimming for the day."

"The important thing to remember about water, Haymitch, is that it doesn't have a brain, so being outsmarted by it makes one wonder," called Enobaria, sharing in a private conversation with Cashmere and Gloss who had inconspicuously returned to the scene of the crime.

Seeing that August had come to watch the exchange, Haymitch asked Katniss and Finnick to help him clear the other victors away so that he might get a word or two in with the District 10 male. To his relief, August seemed to have at least taken his side concerning the pool incident.

"What exactly were they trying to accomplish in drowning you?" he wondered aloud once the other victors had returned to their training.

"Humiliation. They made me look weak because I panicked and couldn't swim out by myself, so if I act like that in other strenuous experiences, how will I react on the battlefield? They wanted to prove to everyone that I'm not worth forming an alliance with, but the joke's on them because I have six and a half districts backing me and my goal. So including me, there's fourteen people against ten who are trying to kill Katniss."

"Still stuck on that, huh?"

"I'm not stuck on it. I have active allies willing to off themselves just so she can win and rub it in Snow's face."

"She won't win. Snow will see to that," August warned.

"If she makes it to the finale and then something other than a tribute kills her, the people will riot because they'll know Snow rigged it. They'll want her as their victor again, but if someone other than Katniss wins, they'll be let down. She's already who everyone is voting for because of her relationship with Peeta. If Enid wins, you won't be there to prevent Snow from selling her to the Capitol. You agreed to give up your body so that she would never have to, but if she survives, she'll have no one left to vouch for her."

"So you think death is preferable to that fate?"

"You do, which is why you're here. It's not just to fulfill that family bond, but because you have nothing left to live for. Snow stripped that away from you when he made you strip off your clothes."

August punched him in the gut and Haymitch doubled over, winded and about to be sick from the force of the hit. Capitol observers and trainers rushed in to separate them, but August was already helping Haymitch stand upright, pulling him in close as if to shake his hand, and whispering, "You deserved that. But you're right." Then, the two were being forced apart with a warning to August that if he tried to attack his fellow tribute again, he would be removed from the Training Center. August was hardly paying attention, though, and Haymitch saw the three inner fingers on his left hand form the farewell gesture of District 12.

Seventeen against eight. Half of the opposing force on the other team with the more powerful, more experienced victors against them, but Haymitch was banking everything on having numbers outweigh experience. He was banking on far more luck and sense of camaraderie than was wise, but he knew he was doing better in procuring a shield for Katniss against the arena than Peeta could have done. Even if Haymitch was decent in winning sponsors for Katniss, he was better equipped to defend her in the arena since Peeta had been taken out of the action so early and proved only to be a liability.

Haymitch was Katniss's biggest advocate, so now that he had all of the allies he had hoped to secure, there was nothing for him to do, no amount of words he could preach to the others to make them sign a truce that stated that neither side would engage in a bloodbath. When the time came, they would be monsters to contend with, but with the majority of the tributes siding with Katnisss, it was the very best they could hope for.


	5. Chapter 5: Let Them See

Dreams of crushing waves and gagging on air that wouldn't come plagued him that night so that when he awoke drenched in sweat, he feared to take a shower to cool himself off. Even the notion of splashing his face in the sink didn't seem at all appealing. When he tried to return to sleep, he instead saw bloodless, lifeless forms of his fellow victors tearing into him as he stood the lone survivor on a field of young, shattered bodies—seventy-four years' worth of dead children. He awoke screaming to the sound of pounding on his door.

"Haymitch, open the door!"

He called out to Katniss that he was fine now that he was awake but she continued to smash her fist against the heavy wood until he finally threw off his blankets and let her in. She switched on the lights and then led him to the bathroom so that she could get a proper look at him. Try as he might to hide the terror in his eyes from her, she had witnessed the same types of horrors he had and therefore knew what signs to look for in identifying emotional trauma. She knew why he slept with a knife and why he hated it here in the Capitol since he wasn't allowed any such weapon to guide him through the night.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

"I can do it myself. Go back to bed."

"Look at yourself in the mirror and tell me that you have things under control."

Haymitch didn't need to look in the mirror; he knew that he looked like shit, but he didn't want Katniss here, standing vigil over him as if he was the child in this situation. Though to be fair, hadn't she done as much for him since winning her first Games? She and Peeta had seen to it that he kept relatively clean, tried to sober him up when necessary, but kept a supply of liquor in stock so that he wouldn't suffer a relapse. He had seen them through their Games and then they had sustained him through the aftermath. They knew his fears—at least most of them—and knew how to put his mind at ease.

He still hated it, though.

"I'll get Peeta and we'll take turns staying with you—"

"I'm not dying. Just leave me the hell alone and go get your beauty sleep."

Katniss shoved him into the shower and turned on the overhead jet faucet, which knocked him down as it rained heavily on him from above, dousing him and his pajamas in fruit-scented streams of water.

"I need you looking like you're untouchable and immune to any insults or mental attacks from the Careers when we go back down for our last day of training and if you go down looking like that, they're going to target you first along with Mags, Demi, and Crescere, so you're going to sit there and shut the hell up while the water does its work, then you're going to go to bed without a word and if you try to make me leave, I'll knock you out."

"Well, excuse the hell outta me, when did you learn to talk like that?" asked Haymitch, attempting to rise, but Katniss directed the jets of water back onto his head.

"You. Sit."

She continued to stand above him, glaring at him until he gave in to her penetrative stare and allowed the water to cleanse him of his nightmare. With his hair clinging to his scalp, he felt Katniss towel-dry him enough so that he wouldn't soak the floor and then handed him a fresh pair of pajamas, turning her back so that he could toss off the sodden ones. When he had finished, she pushed him back into the bedroom, made him sit on the edge of the bed, and then checked his eyes one last time for signs of subdued trauma.

"Lay down," she said after a moment in which she must have concluded that he was aware of his senses.

"I thought you weren't going to baby me?"

"I'm not coddling you; I'm helping a friend who's had a moment of weakness. Lay down."

More to humor her than anything else, he did as she said, but sat up almost immediately when he felt pressure on the other side of the bed as she lay down as well.

"That's not a good idea. If anyone sees you—"

"They'll think what? That I'm abandoning my love for Peeta because of my sudden affection toward you?" Katniss scoffed.

"That's exactly what they'll think. People here believe anything and the powers that be will do whatever they can to shed negative light on you. You can't afford for anyone to feel unsympathetic toward you if they think you're—having an…an _affair_ with me."

"Fine. I'll go get Peeta and we'll keep the door open so that anyone who looks in will see you on one side of the bed and us the other side. We'll keep a pillow between your side and our side."

"Katniss—"

"I'm not leaving you alone tonight. Tomorrow night, sure, but you need this and I need you, so you're going to have to deal with it."

Before he could stop her, Katniss went to the door, threw it open, and called for Peeta in the dark, silent apartment. The boy appeared within seconds with his robe around him, bare feet slapping loudly on the marble floor. Katniss explained the situation to him and to Haymitch's annoyance, Peeta agreed with her sentiment. He helped her set up their side of the bed and positioned a few pillows beside Haymitch to block them from making contact with him. It was too strange, having someone in his bed and knowing full well that they were the equivalent of his niece and nephew, had he ever gotten lucky enough to have family of that sort.

Before she lay down, Katniss changed the blank window screen to a calm, reminiscent setting of home with its soft bird song and whisper of wind through the thick forest trees...

He was wakened from a surprisingly dreamless sleep by the frantic voice of Effie calling for Katniss and Peeta in the main living area, only to see her lightly powdered face emerge from the hallway seconds later. Upon seeing Katniss and Peeta in each other's arms on one side of the bed and Haymitch sprawled on the other, she put a hand to her heart and swayed. Throwing back his covers, Haymitch ran to her in time to catch her and gently set her on the floor.

Fanning herself breathlessly, she set about to scolding them all in equal turn. "You can't just disappear like that; I was worried sick that something had happened to you. And you, Haymitch, encouraging that sort of behavior from them in your own bed, no less!"

"What sort of behavior would that be?" asked Haymitch testily. "They're together, aren't they, for however much longer until the Games. You wouldn't understand because you haven't been in the Games, but believe it or not, not all of us can sleep so soundly alone after going through the things we went through, so we decided that we would all feel a little safer sleeping in the same room."

He had hurt her again in his brash admittance of the terror of the Games and how no Capitol citizen had the capacity to understand how frightening it was in the aftermath.

Feeling that he had better apologize quickly this time, Haymitch helped Effie stand and then crossed his arms defensively since apologizing did not come naturally to him. "Okay, that last bit was uncalled for, but no one honestly cares if Katniss and Peeta are in the same bed anymore and with me in the room, it's not like they were gonna do anything anyway, plus we left the door propped open. We all had nightmares last night and just needed some reassurance to face this last day of training. If we alarmed you—well…sorry."

Effie took his apology in stride. "Next time, please just leave a note somewhere that I can see."

 _There isn't going to be a next time._

He said nothing, though.

/ /

Once again, District 1 was in the pool, but today Haymitch gave the place a wide berth as he wandered from station to station, not looking to practice anything in particular but just seeking something mildly interesting to keep him occupied while his brain worked through the succession of the plan thus far. He followed the prompts onscreen as he settled at the knot-tying station and attempted to replicate a fisherman's knot. With his mind elsewhere, however, he was doing a poor job in imitating the simplest knots so that the instructor started to ask him if he had been drinking the night before due to his slow hand-eye coordination.

"If I was drunk, I'd never have made it down to the Training Center to begin with," said Haymitch heatedly and the instructor backed off to go observe Mags and her knack for inventing knots on the fly.

Yawning, Haymitch was only vaguely surprised to find that Enobaria had joined him at the station once the instructor was out of earshot.

"No sleep last night?" she asked conversationally.

"A bit, not enough. Never enough," replied Haymitch, returning to the knot without much enthusiasm.

"What do you do when you wake up in the middle of the night without anything to defend yourself?"

"Go back to bed, usually," said Haymitch in a bored fashion since he was in no mood to play this game with her.

"Lucky for me, they can't take my weapons away since they're embedded in my mouth."

"I'd been meaning to ask you about that. I can't remember exactly, but was it one or two people you killed with those chompers?"

"It was just the one boy from my first Games," Enobaria stated, though she was regarding Haymitch with warning.

"So that sponsor of yours who was looking for a little more than gratitude a few months after your Games cut his throat open of his own accord, did he?" asked Haymitch accusingly.

Enobaria flashed her fangs at him, running her tongue across the surface of the pearly whites before answering elusively, "They never proved it was me."

"But you still did it, and every living victor knows it. We observe each other and get to know each other better—get to know the real souls living inside the bodies—better than anyone from home. I know why you did it and I'm not judging you because I would have done the same, but I have to wonder if you've killed more people with your teeth than just that last boy in the Games and your handsy sponsor."

Coming nose-to-nose with him, Enobaria spoke in just loud enough of a voice to merit a wisp of air striking him in the face, "Five other people. I had my reasons, and the world's better off without them."

"Do you go for the kill straight away, or try to make it painful for every second that they're alive while they bleed out?" Haymitch dared to ask.

"Depends on who it is. The boy in my Games should have gone quick, but I had just regular teeth then. Everyone else has gone slow because I wanted to watch."

"So you wouldn't be too eager to consider a request I have for you?"

"Again, depends on what it is since I don't think I owe you anything."

"Not me, but if you kill—"

" _When_ I kill," she corrected.

"Okay, when you kill, could you try to make it quick? I can't see that you think any of us deserve to go slow, so could you not play with your food before you eat it?"

"Everyone going into that arena deserves to live because they earned that right and in doing so, they earned the right to as painless of a death as can be given. If I'm the one to kill them, I'll get it over with as quickly as possible," Enobaria promised.

"Your allies—"

"They won't be playing with their food either. I'll see to it."

There was a tense moment of silence in which Haymitch and Enobaria considered each other. They had just made a pact to dispatch their enemies in a manner that didn't leave them scrabbling for breath as their bodies convulsed and shut down on them. They had come to an inside agreement, unknown by the other tributes, to do this one benevolent thing in full awareness that they would be enemies on the battlefield. They never had any delusions about partnering up for survival, but it brought Haymitch the slightest amount of comfort to know that she wouldn't allow the other Careers to revert to sadism or glorification of death. They were all of them victors, and some small amount of unifying respect would make them choose to kill their opponents as painlessly as possible.

How the Gamemakers chose to handle the matter remained to be seen.

The very least Haymitch could do for those victors he couldn't save before the plan was set in motion was to ask for their deaths to be quick and humane. He had every reason to suspect that Enobaria would lie to him, but she had nearly been a victim of unwanted touch just as Olathe had been and that small saving grace had made her sympathetic to those who were too weak to defend themselves.

Still, Haymitch would do his level best to see every victor as far into the Games as the Gamemakers allowed—or at least as far as Plutarch Heavensbee allowed, for he had received another message following Effie's slight meltdown and it had come to him in the form of a bread basket as the centerpiece of their rich breakfast. Differently shaped loaves and rolls with district numbers stamped into them were meant to casually show off the varying styles of breadmaking, but some loaves had decorative skewers in them and given that there were two loaves for each district, Haymitch picked up on the meaning quite clearly. In total, ten loaves had skewers in them, but it didn't matter which district the loaves came from, only the number.

Ten tributes would surely die before the mastermind behind the coup could even begin to make a rescue effort. Haymitch's job was the same as it had ever been: to protect Katniss, but now knowing that Snow would require a certain amount of bloodlust to throw him off the scent, Haymitch unwittingly started mentally compiling a list of victors who would have to die in order to keep his closest friends and allies alive. And then it hit him that the notion of composing his hit list just to ease his own conscience was demented and not something he should be doing at all.

His anger with himself and with the situation hadn't abated in the slightest as he and the other victors closed out their final day of training by gathering in a small room to await the summons for their evaluation. Though conversation between districts was normally strictly forbidden during such things, they were not told off or warned to refrain this time most likely on account of knowing each other too well to resist. They had only been sitting for a minute or so when Gloss was called in, giving his sister a thumbs up gesture as he disappeared through the arch to the hallway beyond.

It had occurred to all of them that they were at something of a disadvantage because they all knew each others' strengths, as did the Gamemakers, so the only new material they could bring to the table had to be something they had picked up in three days unless they had somehow managed to hide their skills up until now. But then the question had to be asked: what skills could any of them secretly acquire when they had no reason to do so after being guaranteed immunity from further reapings?

Haymitch certainly hadn't learned anything noteworthy in three days. Small skills that could help him contribute to a group effort, maybe, but nothing that all the other victors hadn't already learned right along with him. The subject had come up during breakfast, but Peeta had drawn a blank on what Haymitch and Katniss could do to impress the Gamemakers. Cinna and Portia had tried to help them brainstorm while Effie suggested under her breath that Haymitch could show the Gamemakers how spectacularly far he could vomit once properly inebriated.

In the end, Haymitch decided to just walk in, see what supplies had been set out for him, and go from there, though he still was hoping for a higher score so as to earn some sponsors that would provide him with supplies necessary to keeping Katniss, himself, and twelve other victors alive.

To entertain them all while they waited, Ramie started chanting the lyrics to a drinking game Haymitch was familiar with and soon nearly everyone had joined in while following cues and dares from other victors to keep the game going as the Gamemakers slowly went through the evaluation process. Watching them all laughing, clapping, and singing back in various levels of tone-deafness, Haymitch felt a stab of pain to his chest as he recalled his conversation nearly half a year ago, two weeks after Snow had announced the Quarter Quell.

He had been going through withdrawal ever since Katniss and Peeta put him on their fitness regime and Peeta had disposed of all of his liquor. In the dead of night, he had been sitting at the foot of the stairs, hugging himself and biting down on his knife handle to keep from screaming and alerting the entire district that he was having another episode. Only a few times in the past twenty-five years had he been in this position of having no alcohol in his system so that he broke into fits of hysteria as a way of coping with the pain. His screams had scared children for a quarter of a century so that he largely found himself avoided in public, but he didn't care about his popularity in his own district; he just wanted the pain to stop.

On the verge of calling for Katniss in a desperate attempt to find a cure for himself, Haymitch found two pudgy hands sitting him upright and then a sharp pain in his thigh. His vision cleared enough for him to see the roundish, amused face of Plutarch Heavensbee, though he knew the Head Gamemaker was not finding any entertainment in his predicament; Plutarch simply had that fixed expression.

Once he had calmed down significantly, Plutarch steered him into the kitchen, drew the blinds, and lit a small candle while making a cup of coffee for himself and Haymitch. He poured a few drops from a vial into Haymitch's mug and assured him that it would satisfy his addiction without the side effects of losing control of his senses. Then he told Haymitch the most ludicrous, far-fetched, elaborate-sounding plan that ever existed to mankind and Haymitch had had to excuse himself to the restroom as his laughing fit dissolved into a hacking cough. When he returned, Plutarch provided him with evidence and then Haymitch had allowed himself to hope for not only survival, but the possibility of thriving and fighting back. The promise of holding Snow accountable for all he had done.

" _We won't be able to have another conversation like this again, face to face, until we're on our way out of the Capitol," said Plutarch._

 _"If all goes according to plan and a lot of that plan depends on me asking everyone else to lay down and die for Katniss," Haymitch responded. "She has to make it to the end or your whole plan goes up in flames, doesn't it? I'm supposed to be your puppet in orchestrating this and I have to do all of that without any direct contact with you, is that it?"_

 _"You simply have to do what you've always done and that's earn your tributes sponsors while the Head Gamemaker pulls the strings. But that's only if you're not going into the arena. If it's her and the boy, you make sure he gets as far as you can get him, or she'll give up. If it's you and her, you stay with her until the end. Keep her alive as long as you can. You'll receive a signal when you know it's time, but I can't tell you when that will be."_

 _"So not everyone has to die, only most of them while you play Head Gamemaker and make nice with Snow? And I just have to assume that I'll understand your signal when I see it, that's also assuming I make it that far? What happens if I die, Plutarch? I'm your one pawn you have left to play with and if I die, who'll give up everything to protect Katniss?"_

 _"You don't give me enough credit. Snow doesn't see you as the problem, so his attention won't be on you during the Games, which will allow me to deflect any punishing death ideas he may have for you. Your time in the arena won't be easy, but I'll do my best to shield you from anything too gruesome. Meanwhile, keep Katniss in your sights at all times and deal accordingly with anyone who interferes with that. I can't promise you that everyone will side with us in our attempt to keep her alive, but I can give you hope that there need not be twenty-three corpses to bury at the end of these Games. Oh, there will be multiple deaths, don't delude yourself into thinking otherwise, but not all victors need to be slaughtered. If it means so much to you, keep those you care about close and have the ones you don't help you keep them alive. Do your best. It'll be easier if you convince them to help you keep her alive, then if they die, at least it will have been toward a good cause."_

At that point, Haymitch had leaped to his feet with the intention of demanding that the man leave, but then he heard the seal on the deal.

 _"Thirteen needs her. We can continue this rebellion without her, but it'll be hard if there's no face to rally to. You know what sort of impact she can have without trying because you had that same impact without realizing it. You never heard of the riots in District 3 when you used the force field to kill your last opponent in the Second Quarter Quell. You found out how to use a weapon you shouldn't have had access to and that weapon had been designed in Three, so Snow turned his attention to them and they met him with resistance. It was not nearly as much of an ordeal as it was when Katniss and Peeta won, but you had that same effect on people. You have a way of persuading people, which makes you perfect for this role and why I've come all the way out here on the pretense of observing firsthand how your district is responding to the stricter regulations. I have faith that you will see this through because you know how to look for those clues to keep you alive, even if no one else is looking for them. I am placing all of my hopes on you so that the nation can place its hope in Katniss. You created Katniss the Victor, Haymitch, so see to it that she doesn't become Katniss the Martyr."_

 _"Well, I'm flattered."_

 _"Don't be. Just be grateful. I'm providing you with ten vials of the same liquid I put into your coffee. It gives you your fix without hindering your abilities so that you can avoid relapse, keep your wits about you, and prepare yourself, Katniss, and Peeta for what is coming. You need only take three drops from the vial every twelve hours and the pipette measures them out exactly for you. There's enough liquid in each vial for twenty days, so don't overdo it and ration yourself because once you're on the train to the Capitol, you won't be allowed to bring any of this with you. Try to wean yourself off of it by the time that day comes around. This is my gift to you in exchange for your trust and your help."_

A suspicious liquid that allowed him to trick his body into feeling intoxicated while allowing him to function like everyone else and vividly remember the horrifying images of his Games but not feel the need to scream and tear out his eyes when he did so? Haymitch would marry the man if Plutarch had commanded it right then and there, but no such order came. Instead, Plutarch told him to await further clues, messages, and signals, and left Haymitch to finish off his coffee.

Now, as Haymitch imagined his coffee mug in hand while everyone around him sang along to the drinking game, he realized that despite a nightmare or two, he had managed to avoid becoming addicted to the vials of life-saving liquid that Plutarch had provided for him. Instead of becoming dependent on them the same way he had relied on liquor, he had managed to make his body self-sufficient, and that made him aware of the fact that he was in control of his body completely on his own for the first time in over half of his life—which meant he was able to completely feel the heartache that came with realizing that Plutarch meant for at least ten of the people gathered around him to die.

Plutarch didn't care who it was, as long as Katniss made it to the end and as long as Haymitch had everyone or nearly everyone convinced to help him protect her. Haymitch could die and Plutarch wouldn't bat an eyelid. Born and bred in the Capitol, Plutarch still retained that disregard for certain human life as much as every one of his fellow citizens, even if he was working for someone who wanted to bring an end to his current comfortable way of life.

The laughter died down, the clapping quieted, and the small moment of enjoyment disappeared when Farrow left to do his assessment, leaving only Haymitch, Katniss, and Crescere. Reaching across Haymitch to grasp Katniss's hand, the elderly woman gave the younger one a motherly smile.

"We won't have a chance to speak again until after the gong, so good luck between now and then and I'll see you soon. And don't you worry about what happens to me, if something happens to me. You concentrate on you and your loved ones. And if somehow we don't get to speak again, know that I would have cherished the remaining years I would have had to get to know you better."

Struck silent by this woman's kind words, Katniss could only nod as Claudius Templesmith's voice called for Crescere to the evaluation room. Crescere embraced Haymitch for one lingering moment and she knew he resented the affection, but also needed it for whatever was to come. It had been a lifetime since he had known a mother's embrace, so he leaned into her, allowing himself to imagine it was his mother's way of hugging him goodbye in the way she was never permitted to do.

Then there were two and Katniss put her face in her hands, scratching at her cheeks with the stress of conjuring up a skill out of nowhere.

"Any ideas since this morning?" she asked.

"I probably know a few creative curse words they've never heard of before, but that's about all I have going for me. They know everything else about me."

"Do they know how much you hate them?" asked Katniss and Haymitch rotated on his bench to see that hint of flame burning behind her pale blue eyes.

No, the Gamemakers had no idea how much Haymitch detested them. The children who passed through their halls were terrified of them or seeking to impress and intimidate them, but no child had the mental capacity to understand the injustice of the system enough to hate these people in charge of killing them off. Haymitch had had years to dwell on his loathing for the Gamemakers and if the fools didn't get the drift that the victors were all wishing for their blood, they would certainly get the message once Haymitch was done.

"Haymitch Abernathy, District 12, report for individual assessment."

"See you a bit, sweetheart," he told Katniss, rising from his seat with his face fixed.

 _Let them see it. Let them know how much you hate them_.

He knew from the moment he walked into the evaluation room that the Gamemakers were not expecting such a defiant glare from him. Perhaps slightly drunk or defeated, but certainly not as though he was ready to pick a fight with any of them. They shifted uncomfortably in their seats and then Plutarch stood up, informing Haymitch that he had ten minutes to demonstrate his skill. There was no friendly recognition in Plutarch's voice, not that Haymitch had expected it. They both had roles to play, but Plutarch had asked for Haymitch's trust. In return, Haymitch planned to let the Head Gamemaker know exactly what he thought of the Capitol's backwards way of thinking.

Plutarch could stand there and grin in his smug manner all he wanted, knowing that Haymitch had agreed to the plan, but that didn't mean that Haymitch was any happier about it. As long as Katniss survived the arena, Plutarch's little coup d'état wouldn't suffer, regardless of how many victors died before he could make his move to rescue her, but Haymitch wasn't going to let Plutarch think that he, Haymitch, found the other victors any less disposable. There very well could be just one survivor, but if Haymitch had his say, there would be as many as possible, because in the rare event that the Careers were finished off first, leaving only the large alliance across districts to survive the arena, none of them would turn on each other. They would choose suicide over murder.

And all at once, Haymitch knew exactly what to do in order to rattle the Gamemakers and simultaneously give Plutarch a good slap to the face for his ignorance.

He had watched Peeta make his artwork and knew that such creativity took time, but he only had ten minutes in which to concoct this grand display with a limited knowledge of how to draw with oil, let alone paper. He needed the image to be big, but manageable, so he began with a circle, or what he hoped was as close to a circle as possible, and then spent several agonizing moments sketching out the rest of the image from memory. Since the oil was black on black with the coloring of the floor, he knew the Gamemakers couldn't see what he was doing, which would make the final display all the more staggering.

Whipping up a torch made of oil-sodden rags and a wooden stave, Haymitch performed the fire-making technique he had learned in training until he had flame burning at the tip. He backed up to the opposite wall and then hurtled the torch with surprisingly accurate aim where it set the oil ring ablaze, trickling along the sand foundation until the entire image lit up the display floor.

He saw his work reflected back at him through the glass wine cups the Gamemakers set down in shock and rage.

A mockingjay breaking free of its enclosure, just like Katniss's token.

Haymitch raised his hand in a mock salute and then saw himself out, knowing that the Peacekeepers would let him through without being dismissed because Plutarch would tell them to. He had just secured his defiant attitude in front of the people solely responsible for making his time in the arena easy or impossible, but the rest of the world had yet to see it. Plutarch would have to punish him for this open act of rebellion, but his fist would not come as hard as it could if Haymitch wasn't so crucial in the ultimate plan of seeing Katniss to the finish line.

/ /

Upon returning to the twelfth floor of the Tribute Center, he made himself a strong cup of coffee that nearly made him sick with the amount of cream and sugar he piled into his mug, but liquor was off-limits and he needed something with more kick than water or juice. He remained in his training clothes, mulling around until Katniss joined him and the two of them read the expressions on the other's face.

"What did you do?" asked Katniss nonchalantly.

"I made a not-so-subtle vulgar gesture. What did you do?"

"The same, I guess."

"That's my girl."

Katniss looked like she wanted to roll her eyes, but refrained. "I'm going to let that one slide because I appreciate whatever you did to let them know that you plan on fighting them every step of the way, just like me."

"It's gonna make things harder once we're in the arena," Haymitch reminded her.

"I'd rather it be harder than have it be easy, knowing I didn't do anything to confront them."

"You might change your mind once you get a look at the arena. I'm already partially regretting what I did."

But there was no taking back the emblem of the mockingjay Haymitch had burnt into the floor, so he had to own up to it and accept the consequences, whatever they were.

They were interrupted by Effie leading their team into the room with that nauseating cheerful attitude to watch the scores being given.

"I won't tell Effie if you don't," Haymitch whispered to Katniss.

"Deal."

Settling himself down between her and Cinna on the rounded sectional, Haymitch clutched a pillow to his chest to rest his half-full mug of coffee on. Portia switched on their set and Panem's seal was visible for a brief moment before Caesar Flickerman's face dominated the entire screen.

Sporting a pea-green style of wig and eyebrow dye this year, Caesar looked like an overly-ripe vegetable, but his opening greeting was punctured for the first time in Haymitch's memory with a pause of…something. Remorse, maybe, or uncertainty. Probably staged, to remind Panem of how very upsetting it would be to lose so many beloved victors, but somehow Haymitch didn't think that this particular slip in Caesar's bursting demeanor was an act.

"From District 1, returning champion Gloss Bree—" Gloss's training picture appeared with the cameraperson obviously trying to enhance his appealing features like his muscles and chiseled chin—"with a training score of Eleven."

The standards were held higher, the competition was fiercer, and the returning victors who had not let their physiques go to waste were even more dangerous than before. Gloss was one of those victors whose Nine in his first Games was an implication that he was imposing, but his Eleven was a reminder that he was deadly. And so it went with the rest of the tributes. Cashmere's first Games saw her with an Eight and this time around she received a Ten while the rest of the Career pack secured Elevens.

Haymitch watched the scores come and go, though the only one that surprised him was the Seven Kilo had secured. A data table in the upper left hand corner of the screen reminded the audience of how the tributes stacked up against each other so that Haymitch could see the scores all side by side.

 _District 1: Gloss Bree-11, Cashmere Bree-10_

 _District 2: Enobaria Gracchus-11, Brutus Hitower-11_

 _District 3: Beetee Latier-8, Wiress Dougal-5_

 _District 4: Finnick Odair-11, Mags Flanagan-3_

 _Distict 5: Zelic Sylvan-8, Amara Sylvan-8_

 _District 6: Kilo Roby-7, Demi Penderson-1_

 _District 7: Blight Moors-7, Johanna Mason-10_

 _District 8: Tyrek Conant-9, Ramie Ungar-9_

 _District 9: Stele Kross-9, Olathe Edgeton-4_

 _District 10: August Tetherwood-10, Enid Jannis-6_

 _District 11: Farrow Nelms-10, Crescere Walsh-3_

"From District 12, Haymitch Abernathy," and this time Haymitch was sure of the pained swallow he saw in Caesar's throat as he read Haymitch's name. Caesar knew all of these victors, had interviewed them numerous times and spent long hours getting to know them during the off-season of the Games. If not for the artificiality that came with the Capitol, Haymitch would almost consider Caesar to be something of a friend rather than an acquaintance because Caesar was quick on his feet and far smarter than anyone gave him credit for, especially when it came to subduing any rebellious remarks from tributes and victors alike. Yes, there was no mistaking his sorrow that twenty-three people he had come to respect and admire were about to meet their deaths.

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, I've had a terrible tickle in my throat this past week. As I was saying, from District 12, Haymitch Abernathy, with a score of Ten."

"Well, I'll be damned," said Haymitch more to himself than anyone else.

So, Plutarch had somehow convinced the Gamemakers to give him a high score despite his insubordinate display, most likely by promising to make him pay for it several times over in the arena, but Haymitch didn't know how he planned to pull that off since everyone in the control room would be waiting for him to give the order to wipe out Haymitch with a single press of a button.

"Plutarch must like you," commented Katniss, and Haymitch smiled in a way that probably came across as a grimace.

"And finally, from District 12, Katniss Everdeen, with a score of Eleven."

"This is simply wonderful," said Effie, hugging Katniss in the excitement as Peeta, Cinna, and Portia toasted hers and Haymitch's scoring. As Effie went to hug Haymitch, she seemed to check herself and then attempted to brush off the awkward moment by fluffing the pillows that Haymitch had flattened on the couch.

"What _did_ you do?" Haymitch asked Katniss.

"I made that fireproof mixture an instructor showed me, put it on my sleeves, and set them on fire," said Katniss jokingly, but Haymitch wondered if she actually had done that as a symbolic display of a mockingjay's fiery wings.

"Unforgettable Tribute Parade outfits, impressive scores, all you need is a memorable interview and the sponsors will come flooding in," said Effie once she had composed herself again.

"They already are. It's chaos every time I leave the building," said Peeta. "You and Haymitch are already the favorites to win."

No one pointed out that Snow wouldn't allow there to be two victors again, but they all decided to enjoy the promise of constant sponsor contributions as their Avoxes set out the dinner spread. Haymitch began to butter himself a roll when Effie announced that Peeta and Cinna would be combining efforts to help Katniss project the audience-winning smiles and quips that had fallen for Peeta's declaration of love the year before. Meanwhile, Portia would be finishing up the interview costumes, leaving Effie to coach Haymitch. Alone.

"No offense, Effie, but I think I'd rather throw myself off the top of the Tribute Center," said Haymitch, setting his roll and knife down with a clatter.

"I didn't jump at the opportunity to be stuck alone in a room with you either, but you definitely need brushing up on your public appearance. That scowl could drive every baby in the nation to tears. I know exactly what your social weaknesses are, so I'm the best person to help you overcome them."

"I can save you a lot of time and energy by just calling it quits now because I'm just like Katniss when it comes to making an audience like me and training to face that audience with someone who makes me set up all of my defenses isn't gonna help. It'd be helpful if I could practice with someone who knows me and can play to my sarcastic strengths, but that isn't anyone here, so I'm better off being left alone."

"That isn't an option, so I will meet you in the living area tomorrow after breakfast and don't test me on this because I will have someone knock your door down if you try to barricade yourself in there to keep me out."

If there was any indication as to how seriously Effie took this interview practice, it was evident in how viciously she stabbed her smoked salmon.


	6. Chapter 6: The Final Interview

True to her word, Effie arrived promptly after breakfast the following morning after Haymitch had gone a restless night considering his actions and running over every possible arena scenario in his head. It helped to let his brain run wild so that he knew he would be too exhausted to dream if he did manage to fall asleep, but it put him in a worse mood despite his eight cups of coffee before Effie stepped off the elevator.

Sprawled across the couch, he ignored her attempts to get him to sit up properly as she listed the possible angles he could use to play the audience, but since Portia had told him to be himself, he was perfectly content to follow the latter's lead instead of the former's. If Portia had even been there to work with Effie, things might have gone smoother, but as it had been with Katniss when Haymitch tried to coach her last year, working with Effie only made both of them more agitated because they brought out the worst in each other. There was no one Haymitch could fully open up emotionally to, no one he trusted on that level that was alive today, except perhaps Mags whom he had always nurtured a soft spot for.

Effie insisted that they practice some interview questions, but Haymitch didn't see the need because he already knew what the audience was expecting and even his surly attitude wasn't appealing, the combination of his costume, training score, and the fact that he was Katniss's dedicated teammate would help the audience cater to him. And even then, Caesar Flickerman would do the opposite of what Effie was doing and make him appear far more likeable than he was. Caesar and Haymitch had been through this series of interviews before and the Master of Ceremonies knew how Haymitch preferred to be interviewed.

Haymitch had been sixteen the last time he sat in the hot seat and Caesar had been fairly new to his job at the time, having replaced his predecessor in recent years. Caesar had about four or five years on Haymitch, but youth had not deterred him from becoming the most memorable host the Games had ever seen so that at around twenty years of age, he was still very much a child when compared to the tributes he was interviewing. Both he and Haymitch had grown up on television but where the years had been kinder to Caesar's face, Haymitch had only perfected his scowl. Still, Caesar would know how to help Haymitch earn the audience's favor.

Effie slapped her cue cards down on the coffee table, her frustration showing clearly by the way her wig was slipping. "You might at least attempt to work with me here instead of sulking like a spoiled child. This will be your last chance to win sponsors, Haymitch, so do try not to look like you're about to leap off the stage and throttle someone."

"Lady, I'm about to go back into the Games, my second Quell, with the deadliest tributes ever to come out of an arena and I know I'm going to die. You know it, I know it, Peeta knows it. Only Katniss doesn't because she'd try to protect me if she did. But I'm about to die for her, so unless you're planning on taking my place, you'd better step off and let me sulk as much as I goddamn please."

"I would!" snapped Effie and then clapped her hands over her mouth, searching about for any cameras that might be present. "I would," she said again, though much quieter, but as she spoke, her eyes welled with tears. "I would go into that arena to protect her, as I would for Peeta because they're my victors, _my_ children—or as close as I'll ever get to having children. I think of them as my own and I would do anything to save them. I know you would too because you love them in the same way, don't you?"

Haymitch didn't have to confirm it with words. She already knew, and so he nodded, hoping that this information would stay strictly between the two of them.

Effie let out a pathetic wail and threw her arms around him, sobbing in a small amount of relief and happiness that he had admitted such a thing to her. She rambled on about how she knew his heart still worked underneath his hard outer shell and he was on the verge of pointing out that no one thought she had a heart to begin with when she pulled back and kissed his cheek.

"Okay, stop. Pull it together."

He made her sit up and awkwardly patted her back a few times so that she could compose herself and when she did, he scooted discretely away from her so that he would not be in the danger zone of being forcibly hugged again. He didn't mind showing affection to the two people he knew deserved it, but accepting it from someone who had given him every reason to think she detested him—he didn't know how to react and had not had a female do something so intimate as kiss him since the last time he had seen his girlfriend before Snow had her murdered.

He wondered if Effie knew that. Everyone else seemed to because all the dark secrets of the reaped victors were coming to light now.

"Effie, have you always known what happened to my family?"

With a small hiccup, Effie nodded. Another surprise from this supposedly heartless, brainless, materialistic woman. She had known since the beginning, since their first time working together during the 68th Hunger Games when she was presented as the new escort for District 12. Haymitch had been blackout drunk through all those years leading up to the 74th Games, lost in his misery and memories, but Effie never brought up the subject of his family, even to use it to get him to at least try and keep their tributes alive. He needed to know why.

"You never said anything," he prompted.

"You didn't need to be reminded, and even if I had, I doubt you would have heard me," said Effie, and if Haymitch wasn't mistaken, he detected loss in her voice. Hurt.

"Of course I would have. When people bring it up, I shut them down immediately on the subject, so if you'd said anything, I would have responded."

"You already shut me down before I could say a word to you, or don't you remember our first meeting? My predecessor had finally been promoted to District 7 and warned me that you would be difficult to deal with, but I was optimistic because I admired you from the time I was ten years old and saw you win your Games. My parents were disappointed that you won because they had wanted Gossamer to win, but I was vying for you and I wanted nothing more than to meet you, which is why I became an escort, so that I would be able to interact with you, no matter which District I was assigned. I learned everything about you that I could from interviews and past victors, even procuring a meeting with Caesar Flickerman to know the man I was about to meet. And then, when I was chosen for Twelve, I had such high hopes—and you quashed them immediately. You were inebriated around the clock and rude and just hostile in every way. Cruel, even, as if I had done you a personal wrong. I knew nothing I said would have the slightest impact on you, but if I were to bring up your deceased family, I feared what you would do to me, so I said nothing. And now that you're sober and actually listening to me, we've run out of time to become friends and for me to apologize for what happened to your family."

Now he felt like an asshole because he could imagine ten-year-old Effie clapping as Haymitch emerged victorious from the arena while her parents scolded her for supporting such a poor tribute. By then she had already been brainwashed into believing that killing children was acceptable for their entertainment, but she still wanted to meet him. And when her time came, Haymitch could vaguely remember ignoring her as he stumbled drunkenly through their shared Games, refusing to interact with her more than absolutely necessary because she was Capitol spawn and he didn't want anything to do with her. In doing so, he had missed out on having a valuable friend, though he supposed it was all for the best now that he was about to die. The less Effie knew about Haymitch, the more likely Snow would leave her alone in the aftermath.

"Would you tell me what your family was like?" asked Effie, and her tear stains had left marks down her cheeks that completely washed away her makeup so that he saw her true skin color, perhaps for the first time. It was a soft pink color like a newborn baby's.

"On one condition," said Haymitch, seized by a sudden thought. "I want to see what your hair really looks like."

He was asking her to strip away her Capitol identity and remove all of those securities she had developed over the years to feel beautiful, but wasn't she asking the same thing of him, to open up and reveal to her what only the people of District 12 knew? Amazingly, she agreed.

"My mom was a short woman, but fearless. She raised my younger brother and me after our dad died of a pox. She worked as a seamstress in Twelve and then I dropped out of school to get my own job helping an ailing local tend to his few cows. It paid for our needs, anyway, until I was reaped. But before that, my mom never let me think that my brother and I were going to die of starvation. She went without food a lot, just so we could eat, and didn't let us deny the food. And even though she was stubborn to a fault, she was the only one who knew how to calm us down when we would get upset about what the Peacekeepers were doing during the time. Having Thread in Twelve brought back memories of how bad it used to be and I would be on the verge of doing something stupid, just to have a small amount of satisfaction, when my mom would take me aside and run her hands through my hair. My brother took less persuasion, but he wanted to be like me and I had to start guarding my tongue in case I said something rebellious and he repeated it. He was three years younger than me, but he'd grown up faster than I ever did because he understood how important it was to be silent in the districts and save the dangerous thoughts for your dreams."

Haymitch paused, pulling up the images of his family from his memory reserves since he had tried so hard these past twenty-five years to forget their faces in the hope that it wouldn't hurt as much to remember them. His mother with her premature grey hair standing at not even five feet, though with a scowl that could send him cowering in an instant. His brother, a copy of him except lankier and younger.

"And my girlfriend, Tenny, was fifteen when I was reaped. We'd been together for maybe five months, enough time to fall childishly in love, but not enough time to know her, to consider if she was the one I wanted. She had auburn hair and dead eyes like so many of my people from the Seam. I think she took to me because I made her feel some form of life when I talked about fighting the Capitol, but in the end, she was just a clueless girl who got killed because she knew me slightly better than everyone else in Twelve. I can't say that I loved her, but she was mine to protect when Snow had her killed, and that's why I drink, because I got an innocent girl killed for just knowing me."

He hadn't realized it as he recounted his story, but Effie had scooted closer to him again and was now cradling his hand in hers. He stiffened when she gave it a squeeze, preparing to move further away still, but then she was reaching up, removing the pins that held her golden wig in place. The artificial mountain of curls came off like a helmet and Haymitch watched in fascination as she set the wig on the couch and turned her attention to the bald cap that obscured whatever real hair she had. The bald cap blended right into her skin and must have been applied with the world's strongest glue, because it took her a solid three minutes to work it off, but when she did, she continued clutching it even as her real hair popped free from its prison after who-knew-how-long.

It reached just below her ears, wavy, and white-blonde. She self-consciously raked her fingers through it, turning her face away from Haymitch as if to avoid his criticism, but he had none to give. The look suited her and that hair color would have helped her fit right in with the merchants of Twelve. As she made to tuck her hair back up, Haymitch caught her wrist to stop her and then dumped a large portion of water onto the napkin from the table, gesturing at her face. Whatever Effie saw on his face, she must have trusted his intentions, for she took the napkin and began to wipe away her makeup, layer by layer. The lipstick that shaped her lips into a heart at the center, the fake golden tattoos that curved around her eyes, the lashes that protruded far enough to stab someone in the eye if they got too close. It all came off, leaving her looking frightened of being judged, but utterly normal apart from her bleached eyebrows.

"That's what I don't understand about the Capitol," said Haymitch as he gazed upon her with admiration for the courage to overcome the rules the system had set before her, and allow him to see her in her rawest form. "That's why I wanted nothing to do with you to begin with; none of you could understand what true beauty is. You all had some false conception about the things that made you appealing to the rest of the world, but I've seen a change in you in the past year alone, and you went from having powder-white skin at all times to a more natural color. You took it all off so that I could see what you really look like. And you have no idea how beautiful you actually are."

He saw the blush on her pale cheeks as she tried to cover herself, as if she was ashamed of what Haymitch saw. Again, he stopped her.

"No. You may not believe me and you'll go back out into the world wearing everything you just took off, but I want you to see yourself how I see you right now. You look human, _real_. You look like someone I would have been friends with if you had come to Twelve in this manner instead of hiding behind the Capitol's latest fashion. I wish you would have come to Twelve looking like this; we could have gotten the chance to know each other better then."

"Then I suppose it's a shame neither of us could see past the other's mask of choice," said Effie, and even her voice sounded more normal, less accented.

"I want you to do me a favor, Effie. When these Games are over, when I'm gone, I want you to do this again, take off every bit of artificial beauty on you, and look at yourself in the mirror. Then I want you to take a picture and keep it to remind you that I saw you for who you are, and I regretted how quick I was to judge you, so don't ever let yourself make that same mistake."

"When you're gone…" Effie repeated, and she reached out as if to put her hand on Haymitch's chest, perhaps to straighten his shirt or dust away nonexistent particles, but she seemed to think better of it and put her hand in her lap. She knew of Haymitch's discomfort in human touch, and she respected it now when she so obviously needed it and knew he couldn't reciprocate—which made it surprisingly easy for him to open his arms to her and let her embrace him, sobbing into the crook of his neck.

He let her dry herself out, holding her for as long as she needed before he sensed that she had cried her last tear. Then she sat back, wiping the final trails of wetness from her smooth, natural cheeks, and Haymitch saw her eyes flicker toward his mouth.

 _No. Don't let it go that far, or there'll be consequences for her if things go badly in the arena._

She was already at risk for just being the escort for Twelve, the district that spawned the two most troublesome victors. It hit Haymitch hard in the stomach like an anvil that Effie could face the same fate as Tenny because of her association with Haymitch and Katniss. Snow could torture her for information that she didn't have, and Haymitch refused to allow history to repeat itself. He made a mental note to demand Effie's immediate evacuation as soon as the gong announced the start of the 75th Games. Somehow, he had to alert Plutarch that Effie was in danger, though Plutarch might have already had set those plans in motion.

All of this passed through his head in a handful of seconds, and in that time, Effie had touched two fingers to his lips, perhaps frightened that he would react harshly if she tried anything more daring. She was leaving the rest up to him, but it was evident in how her fingertips traced the padding of both lips that she was curious, maybe even slightly—enthralled with him.

But he had to say no, for her sake, and because it wasn't right, going from being just shy of loathing someone to suddenly developing feelings for them. He had moved on from despising her, but she was still…foreign to him. Anything he might think or feel in this moment was a product of her opening up to him and not to be encouraged because his life had been claimed, and hers was still wide open.

"Effie, I can't. If Snow ever found out that you were anything more to Katniss and me than just an escort…it would just go bad for you. Being turned into an Avox would be the best you could hope for, the best I could hope for. I won't be responsible for putting you through that, or worse. And whatever you feel, trust me, it's just adrenaline and emotion talking. I said something nice to you for once, but it doesn't mean anything more, you understand that? You understand why I can't let you…continue?"

"I know you can't; that's why I wanted to touch you, just once."

Even as she said it, she was pulling away, when suddenly Haymitch was overcome with a longing to know what it felt like to be properly caressed by a woman. He had a matter of days left to live and he had never even lived his life. He knew none of its pleasures, the best of which was the experience of having a woman express any form of love to him after seeing what sort of man he had become.

"Wait," he said, intending to say more, when Effie brushed her lips against his. He gave in to her desire and let her deepen the kiss as he drew her to him, leaning back to allow her more room. Her hands came up to rest on his chest as he fisted his own hand in her natural hair. Then he stiffened as he felt his body reacting to her. She ended the kiss herself and sat back, completely breaking contact with him.

"I wish we could have had more time, Haymitch," she said with a warble in her throat, and then she gathered up the pieces of her Capitol identity, and was gone.

Splayed out on the couch how she had left him, Haymitch felt confused, angry at himself for allowing things to go as far as they had, and above all, hurt. Where had that kiss come from? What had he said to her that implied he wanted her to do that, apart from telling her that natural beauty was preferred to the freakish looks of the Capitol? Before today, he had become tolerant of Effie, if somewhat annoyed with how she still couldn't pull herself into the reality that the rest of them were living in. She was aware of what was happening, that Haymitch and Katniss were being punished, though for what, she was still oblivious. And though that was for the best, she still had no idea how much danger she was in and what was actually at stake because Haymitch didn't trust her with that information. As attached as she was to Katniss and Peeta, she would not approve of what Haymitch was doing for these young adults that the two of them loved so dearly. She still belonged to the Capitol, not the districts.

But he had let her kiss him because of his own selfish need to feel alive now that he was about to die. As out of character as that was for Effie, she had been the one who broke away and left him without an explanation as to why she didn't allow things to escalate. Maybe she only wanted to kiss him, perhaps to fulfill some childhood dream of kissing the victor she had admired for so long. Either way, it had been brief, and she had ended it on her own terms, which led Haymitch to think that she had manipulated him, played on his sympathies so that she could get close enough to do that.

That fueled his rage. She wouldn't do that, would she? Would she pretend to care about Haymitch's murdered family just to get him to open up to her and give her the gateway to kiss him? Was she testing him to see if he would go after her? Or was she being forced to toy with him so that he would be rattled and confused when the Games began? Anything was possible.

He saw a few particles of powder on the table from her makeup and on the floor he spotted the napkin that had smudges of her removed identity. Scooping up the napkin, he went to the garbage disposal and threw it in before returning to his room to await the arrival of his prep team for his last interview.

When they came, they did so as loudly as possible, foolishly pleased that their work had been so favorable to the audience. Salonius set about to washing and combing the tangled mess that Haymitch knew his hair had become overnight while Arcadius secured him once more in the life-sucking corset and Lycinia re-dyed and trimmed his facial hair since he had managed to sweat and rinse off the previously applied dye in three days. They filled in the stress and age lines to make him appear somewhat younger and to soften the hardened edges of his face. They applied a hint of red and orange makeup at the outer corners of his eyes, though he couldn't tell what for, and then dyed a few subtle tips of his hair the same colors until he began to sympathize with what Katniss had to go through every time her prep team closed in on her.

His team finished with painting intricate flame designs on his neck, collar, and wrists that were applied in skin-colored liquid so that Haymitch knew they were there, but couldn't see them. Finally, they all stepped back to congratulate one another on a job well done before each of them swooped down to kiss him on both cheeks as a gesture of fond farewell. Salonius was the last to leave, regarding him as one might gaze upon a pet.

"I'm lucky enough to have been a member of your prep team for two Quarter Quells, Haymitch, and you may look more or less the same with much less personality, but the drive to win is still there. Don't let go of that."

He didn't leave Haymitch time to think of a response as he left, only to be replaced by Portia who was carrying a coal-black suit with a stark-white vest and a complimentary red undershirt. The suit sparkled when it caught the light and the grey shifted to reveal a moving pattern of magma-red at times while looking like harmless ash at other moments. What Haymitch had originally taken for rippling waves were in fact, fluttering feathers—another nod to the mockingjay. Portia spread some sort of cooling cream across the areas where the prep team had stenciled in invisible flames and then let him dress himself. She made sure that his chest was once again exposed, though in a significantly more modest way than it had been during the Tribute Parade. She adjusted his cufflinks, smoothed out his black pant legs, and picked off a few particles of dust on his glistening black shoes that left a temporary red imprint on the floor wherever he walked.

"All done," she said proudly as she made one final alteration to his hair, pinning the natural strands out of the way while allowing the dyed ones to hang forth. "What do you think?"

"I think…you may have confused me with Katniss," said Haymitch, standing in awe of himself. "The mockingjay is her token."

"You both are. That was the plan from the moment you volunteered for Peeta. It's a combined effort from the two of you to put the Capitol in its place. You made Katniss what she is, in a fashion, so you have as much of a right and responsibility to wear the feathers as she does."

Portia spun him around to look at her and showed him a button on the inside of his suit pocket. "When Caesar dismisses you, press the button in there and watch yourself be reborn."

In all seriousness, Haymitch grasped Portia's hand now that he wouldn't see her until the following morning before launch. "You and Cinna are absolutely outstanding and braver than most people in the entire nation, but you put yourselves in danger by doing this. Snow can see what you're doing and he'll punish you for it. Don't go with me to the arena tomorrow, don't even go to the interviews tonight. Find Cinna and both of you get out of the Capitol—"

Portia patted Haymitch's cheek and then brought his hands to her lips to kiss them. "We both know the risks, but what we're doing is far less dangerous than what you're planning to do once you get in there. Our job was to make your job as easy as we could and our hearts go with you. Don't even spare a thought worrying about us; we're not important."

"Yes, you are," Haymitch argued, straining to find the right words since this was unfamiliar territory. "To me, you both are…you're part of our team. Family."

He thought he saw a tear or two in Portia's eyes, but with a giant flutter of her neon-yellow eyelashes, they were gone. "A family doesn't let one person take all the risks for everyone else. Everyone contributes; everyone protects each other. So you protect Katniss in there while Cinna and I protect Peeta and Effie out here. We know, Haymitch. We've spoken…" _With him._ she mouthed, and Haymitch understood.

Plutarch really had thought of everything.

"Now, let's see that infamous scowl," Portia prompted, and Haymitch let his face slide back into disdain as she led him from the room to the elevator.

Instead of lining up by order of interview like previous years, the victors were allowed to mingle and walk around backstage, drinking, eating, talking, and waiting. There were envious stares as Haymitch appeared in Portia's masterpiece, though he didn't see what there was to be envious about since the stylists from other districts had done an equally stunning job in making their tributes glow. It was here that Portia left Haymitch and was replaced with Effie who had reapplied her makeup and wig as she sported a short-cut dress made of an itchy-looking material that had been cut and shaped into patterns of blue and white flames.

She led Katniss into the throng to some audible gasps of jealousy at the layers of black and grey feathers trailing out behind her and ending in artificial flames. As the other tributes stood in awe of Katniss's dress, Effie went to Haymitch and fixed his lapel where he had somehow managed to mess it up already. He held his breath as her fingers touched the bare skin across his chest, wondering if she would bring up what had transpired between the two of them earlier, but it was wishful thinking. She had spent years hiding the hurt she felt from Haymitch's scorn, so a little thing like a kiss would be easy to mask.

"Don't slouch around back here or you'll wrinkle this," she said clippingly. "Sit straight, and don't spill anything."

"I'm upset, Effie, not a sugar-hyped kid," he shot back, but she gave him a gentle slap on the shoulder all the same.

"I'll see you when it's your turn."

"Gloss and Cashmere stand by," called a showrunner and the siblings stepped forward in matching jeweled outfits to follow the man up to the wings of the main stage.

A screen in the last-minute dressing room showed Panem's seal, then a black setting slowly being lit from below in a mixture of blue and yellow lights as an announcer said over the loudspeakers that would carry across the entire block, "Ladies and gentlemen, your Master of Ceremonies, Caesar Flickerman!"

Rapturous applause greeted Caesar as always as the man himself emerged from a platform hidden beneath the stage and raised his arms in greeting to the audience. He took several bows, blew kisses, and then pointed to the mounted stage behind him as a cue that the people should quiet down.

"Ladies and gentlemen, thank you, and welcome to the final night before the 75th Annual Hunger Games and Third Quarter Quell! In mere moments, past victors, beloved champions will grace this stage for the last time and you all will get to wish farewell to all but one of them as we prepare to send them off into the most glorious battle Panem has ever seen."

Beneath his pea-green eye shadow, Caesar's eyes fell to the base of the stage as if searching for words, but his moment of loss was over as quickly as it had come.

"We send our support, our thoughts, and our thanks to these twenty-four victors. Our love is our final parting gift to you, and know that you all were an irreplaceable part of our lives."

The audience cheered, some already beginning to sob for their favorite victors. Caesar was driving them to feel sorrow instead of anticipation and excitement for the mass slaughter about to happen.

"Without further ado, please help me welcome the matching set of victors from District 1, Gloss and Cashmere Bree!"

Haymitch went in search of the buffet table to fill his stomach since he knew he wouldn't be able to eat the following morning, not at all interested in hearing whatever rehearsed speech the siblings had thought up. He snacked on a fruit plate and watched Brutus take the stage wearing a see-through shirt that accentuated his intimidating muscles. Caesar asked him about his strategy now that he would be going in with Enobaria who was his good friend (and though Caesar didn't say it, his former lover). Brutus's responses were short, heavy, and somewhat reserved compared to the insults he had been hurtling at Haymitch all week, and Haymitch suspected it was due to Brutus's realization that he was going to have to kill or be killed by the woman he had fallen for even though she had long since moved on from him.

In an equally revealing dress, Enobaria came after Brutus and kept the conversation centered on her teeth until her interview time elapsed. After her, Beetee spoke about his contributions to Panem over the years and how he wished for more time to create bigger and better devices to assist the nation. Following this first subtle stab of anger at the injustice of the system, Wiress replaced her district partner and looked back around at the mounted dais for help in answering Caesar's questions. Quick to pick up on her unease, Caesar changed his approach and asked yes or no questions that Wiress could easily answer and elaborate on in small phrases.

Finnick made half of the audience swoon when he appeared in a loose, breezy white tunic and close-fitting tan pants with a sash of netted rope hanging around his waist. He spoke to Caesar of his time in the Capitol and how he would miss all the people he had met over the years.

 _More like all the people who bought him from Snow, all the people he would kill if he could._

After making Caesar promise to go easy on Mags who was to follow, Finnick joined the rest of the interviewed tributes atop the higher stage and to everyone's surprise, threw his arm around Wiress in one of the first displays of out-district unity. Mags had been dressed in a sea-green robe and through a series of hand gestures, managed to convey her thoughts to Caesar who had had all of his life to pick up on her method of communicating. Haymitch appreciated the lengths Caesar had gone to in order to cater to each victor so that the audience could get the best last impression as possible, and by the time he was sending Mags on her way with a hug farewell, Haymitch was certain that the old woman had at least one person willing to sponsor her.

Next came Zelic and Amara together in complimentary outfits of electric blue and yellow so that they looked like small power bursts standing beside Caesar.

"I have to ask about the reaping," said Caesar as he regarded the married couple. "Zelic, you're the only male victor District 5 has ever had, so there was no avoiding your name being drawn, but Amara, you could have let your fellow female victor go into the Games. Instead you volunteered, and you have a child."

"Yes, we have a son, but he'll be well looked after if neither of us make it home," said Amara. "And if he's reaped in the Games to come, having two victors as parents can only help him. It may seem selfish, but our entire district loves him because he helps out at a different factory or store every day even though he doesn't need to because our winnings have never made him want for anything. He's dedicated to giving back to the people who helped keep Zelic and me alive during our Games and in return, our people love him. But I don't think he would have ever forgiven me if I had let his father go off to another arena and not tried to help him in every way I could. The best way I know how to protect his father is to be with him."

There were collective sighs from the audience and though Caesar made a practiced face of sorrow, Haymitch saw through the mask, saw Caesar silently aching for this couple who were some of the only victors to produce offspring under the pretense of never having to worry about the arena again, only to have it backfire on them.

When Demi came out, the showrunner had to practically shove her on stage and even then, she stood staring at the lights above, lost in her own world. Since she and Kilo were not related, he was not allowed to accompany her on stage, so she was on her own. Caesar put his arm around her shoulders, guiding her forward and holding her firmly by his side so that she couldn't wander as he recounted her previous Games to the audience and highlighted her finer moments. He spoke of how she had found a true friend in Kilo and ended with informing the audience that it was her birthday.

Haymitch had no way of knowing if this was true or not, but he silently applauded Caesar's quick thinking as the latter led the viewers in a traditional song of wishing well to the individual born on this day. Zelic came down the steps to guide Demi onto the dais and then Kilo strolled out of the wings, making straight for Caesar and grasping his hand in what was unmistakably a gesture of gratitude.

Keeping the conversation light and avoiding Kilo's time as a morphling addict, Caesar returned the friendliness by reminding the audience that Kilo had turned a needle into a weapon of mass destruction in his previous Games, which was not something the Gamemakers could have foreseen from someone as small as Kilo was when compared to the Career pack of that year. Kilo's stylist had chosen a flowing, silky material that seemed to stretch as Kilo moved so that he looked taller than he actually was, which was no doubt an attempt to give him an edge since he was viewed as one of the weakest if not _the_ weakest male victors in the pool of tributes.

Blight and Johanna had little words for Caesar, both playing out their anger in guarded and boasting responses respectively. Johanna started yelling at one point and Haymitch was sure that Caesar was receiving instructions through his earpiece to get her off stage as quickly as possible, but Caesar let her finish her rant before leaning sideways to whisper a quick word to her that made her angry expression flicker into something else momentarily. She nodded curtly and went to join Blight behind her.

With grace that only Caesar could conjure after such an outburst, he welcomed Tyrek and then Ramie who, like District 1, were less upset about the rules of the Quarter Quell and more intent on reminding potential sponsors that they still had a lot to offer. Tyrek engaged in a verbal battle of wits with Caesar, but as someone with a quarter of a century's practice in avoiding hostile exchanges, Caesar ultimately won out and seemed almost glad to reach Ramie before she moved suggestively toward him and openly began flirting with him. Haymitch had seen this approach from female tributes before, but what so disturbing was that most of them had been teenagers at the time, so though Ramie was closer to Caesar's age than those girls, she was still a sexual predator and Caesar stepped nimbly out of her reach before he sent her up the stairs.

Stele took the stage in a suit of silvery-grey that had a diamond stalk of grain tucked into the lapel. Stele did not humor Caesar's playful banter, answering his questions rudely and with a look of disparagement. Graceful as ever in making the audience respond to a surly tribute, Caesar only meaningfully brought up Olathe in telling Stele to keep her in his sights for as long as he could. Assuring Caesar that that was his one and only goal, Stele ended his interview with the same scowl he had started it with and went to take his place on the dais behind, leaning visibly away from Ramie who was teasing him with words only the two of them could hear.

As the number of victors wandering around backstage dwindled, Haymitch began to fear for the mental sanity of the victors who had troubling pasts that the audience knew all too well, like Wiress, Kilo, and Olathe, but given how Caesar had acted so far, Haymitch had some hope that the record would continue. That didn't stop him from worrying when the showrunner led Olathe to the wings to await her cue. Her assault was sure to be a topic of discussion because it was what Olathe was most famous for, even if the tapes had never been broadcasted (or indeed, confirmed by any media source). It was speculated, gossiped about, and made into even more famous an event than Olathe actually winning her Games.

She stepped out onto the stage in a cream-white gown that reached the floor with a train like a wedding dress. It ended in crystal stalks of grain that tinkled musically with every step she took. Her stylists had chosen something adult, but not provocative. It shielded her by completely covering her from the collarbone down, save for her hands. Her hair had been left down in elegant curls that settled on her shoulders so that she would not feel as exposed. Whether Stele had had a hand in designing her dress or not, Haymitch didn't know, but whoever her stylist was, he had done his homework and taken special care to make her as comfortable as possible in the least comfortable type of setting.

She mounted Caesar's platform with grace, holding up her dress in the front to climb the steps, but when she reached the top, Haymitch found himself holding his breath, for Caesar customarily shook the male tribute's hands and either kissed the hands of the females or simply held onto them as a form of support. Olathe would reject his touch and awkwardness would follow, ensuring that the subject came around to her assault. When she reached Caesar, he took a slight step back and graced her with a deep bow and a sweep of his hand as if to welcome her, but he never extended his hand to touch her.

The cameras turned to Stele and Haymitch saw him give a small sigh of relief as Caesar introduced Olathe and then plunged right into the subject of terrain Olathe felt comfortable with, or what terrain she hoped for this time around. He never once compared her answer to the type of arena she encountered in her first Games. He asked her what strategy she had worked out with Stele since the two of them were the only remaining victors of their district, so mentors consisted of each other. Finally, he invited her to share her fondest moment of being trained by Stele before the buzzer rang and he held her gaze as he wished her good luck and farewell. He had to know that she most definitely would not be coming out of the Games and he hadn't wasted time asking her how she planned to win, only what she planned to do if she made it far enough to have plans. Instead, he had chosen to help her spend her interview in her own mind, recollecting her time with the man who was most devoted to her.

Caesar stood up, backing off once again to display Olathe to the crowd before blowing her a kiss. She stayed just long enough to place both hands to her mouth and return his kiss by extending her arms to him in thanks for not breaching her forbidden subject.

As family members, August and Enid were allowed to share their interview time and like Stele, August seemed intent on shielding Enid from Caesar's questions, though he need not have worried because if Caesar was smart enough to figure out how to avoid the subject of Olathe's humiliation, he would be more than equipped to deal with Enid's questionable victory.

"It's no secret that August here is your uncle, Enid, but would you say that you've become closer to him since your victory, or did you always share this bond?" asked Caesar.

"He was always around while I was growing up," said Enid. "He helped my father care for me and my brothers after my mother died and he doesn't have children of his own, so he was more than happy to help. But since we aren't his immediate family, he couldn't take us to live in the Victor's Village with him. He spent most of his time with us, though, and made sure we never went hungry. And then when I was fifteen, as you know, I was reaped for the 73rd Games and I don't think I would have survived if I didn't have my mentor also be my uncle. A lot of sponsors who paid for my gifts also paid for his during his Games and since they were so impressed with how he won, I think they thought I showed the same promise. Still, I know I owe it to him to be standing here right now, alive, even if it's just for a few more hours. He's still trying to protect me because he could have let the other male victor, Eaton, be reaped and tried to win me sponsors again from the outside, but he chose to come in with me instead. This time, though, I'm going to try and pay back the favor."

"Such devotion, such commitment. I don't know that I've ever seen a stronger family bond," said Caesar, working his voice into a choked up, throaty sound so that the audience would be sure to take part in the sorrowful fact that this family bond was about to be shattered for their entertainment. Caesar knew exactly how to play the audience to cater to the needs of each tribute and by admitting how awful it was that this uncle and niece would now have to battle to the death, Caesar was doing his own part in trying to earn them sponsors.

Caesar dried his eyes and then turned to August. "What do you have to say to that, August?"

"I'd say that she can try to repay the favor, but if I have it my way, she'll be the one walking out of the arena."

 _Bravo, August_.

Many of the tributes had already expressed their dedication to helping their district partners get as far as possible, but August was the first to blatantly refuse to play by the Capitol's rules. He announced it to the world that he would not fight to win or kill for pleasure. He did not plan on coming out alive; but he would do his best to make sure Enid did (or at least, he had to tell the audience this. He couldn't very well admit to aiding Haymitch in ensuring that Katniss was the victor, and neither could Enid).

As Farrow's interview began, Haymitch found himself relieving the pressure from his aching feet by switching his stance from one leg to the other since he had done as Effie instructed and not sat or slouched during the entire interview. Effie shuffled around him, checking him one last time before the cameras found him. He would have liked to tell her to stop her fussing, but nitpicking put her in her element, so he let her be, hoping that his body wouldn't respond to her as it had earlier and make for an embarrassing entrance on stage.

Crescere greeted Caesar with a warm frontal hug, pinching his cheek in a familiar fashion and Haymitch had to turn away from the screen as he recalled that embrace she had held him in before she went off to her final assessment. He felt it in his heart that Crescere would be one of the first casualties of the Quarter Quell even though he so desperately wanted her to be one of the survivors. He would be lying if he said that he wanted them all to survive, especially with how District 1 and 8 had been treating himself and the other victors, and if the victors from those districts had to die for Crescere to make it into the final fourteen, Haymitch would gladly kill them himself. But the Games didn't work that way. Farrow might try to protect Crescere, but she had asked him not to and she would never forgive anyone who got themselves killed defending her.

"I think I'm good now," he said when Crescere's buzzer signaled the end of her interview.

"One last touch," Effie insisted, placing a flower in his breast pocket. He saw the soft edges and gentle golden color and silently asked Effie why this particular flower had been chosen to adorn his suit.

"Katniss and I agreed that primrose was the best token for you to wear for you last interview. She said you would understand why."

After being told that it was partially Katniss's idea, he did.

"You're ready."

Haymitch touched his fingertips to the rose petals and then saw Caesar gesturing at him to call him to the stage. He walked out to louder applause than he remembered coming out to during his first Games, which puzzled him because though he was hoping to win some sponsors, he thought viewers would consider him something of a disappointment when compared to other male tributes. He had failed to put much effort into saving the children of 12 for nearly his entire time as a mentor, which had led to him falling out of favor with the people of Panem after his staggering victory, but he had volunteered for Peeta so that he could leave one of the star-crossed lovers out of the Games and try to make the other half survive until the end, which made the audience love his sacrifice. He had no idea what to expect from these people, so he kept his scowl on, but decided against being as standoffish as the other males who had come before him tonight.

When he reached Caesar, the latter took his hand and raised it into the air, earning Haymitch more applause from the crowded street full of viewers. Perhaps he was imagining it, but the pressure on his hand from Caesar seemed to be full of reassurance, Caesar's secret way of letting Haymitch know that he didn't agree with the Capitol's last-minute rule changing.

"Yes, give it up, ladies and gentleman, for our last male interview of the night, Haymitch Abernathy! Resurrected from the shadows and brought back into the limelight, not by circumstance, but by choice. I have to tell you, Haymitch, that I was short of breath when you stepped up to volunteer for Peeta Mellark because we all know how much easier it is for a younger tribute to fair in the Games and though you're by no means getting on in your years, you're not getting any younger either. You could have played the role of mentor again, but you took the young man's place. Why?"

Finding Peeta in the front row of reserved seating, Haymitch winked at the boy. "Because youth isn't everything and we know Peeta's strength helped him in his first Games, but he's rubbish with weapons and that's where he and I are different."

"Ah, yes, I recall those close-encounters with the Career pack twenty-five years ago. You turned out to be a wild card that year, didn't you? Wasn't your score a 7?"

"Your memory's probably better than mine, Caesar. It was something in that neighborhood, though."

"And look at you now! A whopping 10 at age—well, we'll just fib a little and say that you're in your mid twenties. Who would have guessed that you improved with age? But all that aside, I know Katniss looked both grateful and shocked when you stepped up for Peeta. You're the only person she knows going into these Games, but you know everyone. How do you cope with that knowledge that all these people you know are going into the arena with you?"

This wasn't a question Snow likely would have approved on Caesar's itinerary if the host had been given one, but Caesar never went by script anyway and in asking this question, Haymitch knew for certain that the man's loyalties had changed. Caesar had just opened the gate for Haymitch to let loose his fury.

"It's the hardest thing you can imagine, Caesar. My fellow victors and I have spent years meeting up at the Capitol to send our mentored children into the arena and though we always hope for our district to win, we don't hold grudges against each other if we win or not. We know that we are the victors and earned our right to be here, so we've built on that mutual right and formed something of a family. I can't say that we're all bosom friends, but we do recognize that what we went through was a common struggle and we've turned to each other for comfort when the memories become too painful to think about. Many of us are as close of friends as it's possible to be, closer than some people from our own districts. And having to go into the arena with them, it doesn't make it easier knowing what their strengths and weaknesses are because at the end of the day, I still know them as human beings and I know I have to kill them. Can you imagine that, making friends with people, neighbors, and knowing them for over half of your life and then being told that you have to kill them?"

"I can't imagine," said Caesar quietly, letting Haymitch keep the spotlight in his subdued answer.

"No, I suppose not. But that's the only thing I can compare these Games to. No matter how you look at it, it's going to be the equivalent of a huge family slaughtering each other."

He let the word hang on the air. _Slaughter_. No one had ever called the Games by what they really were and no censor would have been put over his words because no one expected him to have the guts to say them.

"I have known you since your first Games, Haymitch," said Caesar over the mutterings from the crowd as they contemplated Haymitch's statement, "And though you haven't always been one hundred percent with us, I have still come to know you as a fierce mentor, dedicated to keeping your tributes alive, not for the glory, but for the companionship. You finally found yourself not one, but two fellow victors, and now one of them is going back into the arena with you."

"I'd rather it be me going in than Peeta, I can say that much. I had a life, not a good one, but I had one. I got to see what the world is like, so if I die, and Katniss wins, then at least I'll have made it so that both of them can still get the same opportunity."

Caesar grasped his hand, but then his other hand came up to cup Haymitch's shoulder, giving him a meaningful squeeze and Haymitch saw the giddy Master of Ceremonies disappear, replaced by another human being who recognized the injustice of it all, and couldn't openly agree with Haymitch about it, but wanted Haymitch to know that he regretted it, regretted all the deaths to follow. It was his way of saying sorry because to say the words aloud would mean execution.

"I understand the difficult decisions you're about to face, but something tells me that I need not worry about you doing the right thing. I wish you all the luck in the world, Haymitch, and it has truly been my pleasure to know you these past twenty-five years. Godspeed."

The same terror Haymitch had felt when he realized that Cinna and Portia had incorporated the mockingjay into his and Katniss's costumes washed over him now. He recognized Caesar's rebellious apology, but would others notice as well? Others who could punish him for it? Did Caesar truly know the danger and consequences that followed the words that had just come out of his mouth?

Haymitch let go of Caesar's hand and turned to the stage behind, recalling Portia's words: _When Caesar dismisses you, press the button in there and watch yourself be reborn._

He found the button in his pocket, pressed it, and heard cries of alarm from the crowd below as he turned around to face them. His face was displayed back at him from a giant screen suspended between the buildings lining either side of the street and Haymitch saw a nearly invisible mist spray on him, activating the chemicals in the cooling gel Portia had applied and the stencils his prep team had drawn on him. The combined effect was to make his skin look like it was quite literally curdling in flames, but not in a destructive way. The fire became him; he was the fire, from the bottom of his shoes to the tips of his hair which were also moving in a flame-like manner. The corners of his eyes glowed like burning embers, giving light to his irises so that his very eyes appeared to go up in flames before all of Panem.

Caesar was applauding him even as Katniss appeared on stage in her beautiful gown. Peeta and Cinna's combined coaching efforts apparently couldn't make her any more likeable from Haymitch's view, but that was only because he knew the real Katniss and not this façade she was putting on for the cameras. Her humor didn't seem as forced as it had been during the Victory Tour, but she was still struggling to fill up her interview time, so eventually Caesar asked her what it meant to have someone with Haymitch's knowledge helping her instead of having her lover at her side.

"Haymitch is invaluable to me after what he did to save Peeta. If I don't win, I hope he does because as far as I'm concerned, he's definitely earned it this past year after putting up with me. He comes across as someone who doesn't care either way what people think of him, but once you get past that hard outer layer, you find…more. Do you know what I mean?"

"I do, and I agree."

Then the buzzer was sounding again and Caesar was guiding Katniss to the steps where she joined Haymitch, her own intricate flames claiming her bare arms and shoulders so that the two of them stood as fiery mockingjays about to defy the Capitol one last time.

As they had in the Tribute Parade, Haymitch and Katniss linked hands, but then Haymitch felt that it wasn't enough to simply let the world know that he would stick with her to the end. He put his arm around her, determindly gripping her shoulder to tell her that no matter how fiercely they argued or disagreed with one another, he was with her. Up and down the stage, he saw the others following their lead once again. Amara and Zelic clutched each other. August copied Haymitch's gesture as his arm wrapped around Enid. Olathe leaned her head gently against Stele's shoulder. And the others, prompted by this final demonstration of hatred for the Capitol, linked arms with the victors to their left and right until they formed one giant, inseparable chain.

Johanna wrapped her fingers around Tyrek's, Stele took Ramie's hand, Enobaria held tightly to Beetee's wrist and even between victors who had come to despise one another because of those who preyed upon the weak or those who were too selfish to commit to a greater cause, there was a sense of togetherness as they put aside those differences to face the cameras one last time.

Frightened by this demonstration of unity, but still outraged at the Capitol's supposed rigging of the Games, the audience burst into shrieks of despair, calling for an end to the Games. Amidst the chaos, Caesar Flickerman turned around to face the victors, nearly all of them friends and acquaintances who he had sent off to their first Games, and now their last. He found Haymitch and touched a finger to his own temple, then extended his hand in Haymitch's direction as a gesture of farewell.

His pea-green hair caught the light seconds before the stage was plunged into darkness.

Haymitch kept hold of Katniss and hurried down the steps, lifting her to carry her so as to escape the crowd and chaos in one piece. At the entrance to the elevator, he saw Peacekeepers beginning to detain Demi who was looking lost and panicked without someone to guide her.

"Hey, let go of her!" Haymitch hollered, setting Katniss down.

"She's a danger to herself and others if left alone," one Peacekeeper stated.

"She's not alone; she's with us, and her district partner is already on their floor, so she'll be just fine once she gets off of the elevator."

"You realize that you've made the president extremely angry?" said another Peacekeeper and Haymitch found himself grinning at the proclamation.

"That's what I was aiming for. Now, unless you want to take my place in the Games, I'd suggest letting me through so I can get a good night's rest before I die tomorrow."

His sarcasm won the day and taking Demi's hand in his free one, Haymitch guided her onto the elevator, jamming the button to make the grilles slide shut. On the ride up, he could see the darkened street below with tiny white lights bobbing about as the people stumbled around trying to find one another. On the sixth floor, Haymitch helped Demi step off and called to an Avox to tend to her until Kilo could return.

Once in the safety of the top apartment, Haymitch ran to switch on their screen to see if any reruns were being broadcasted, but an annoying loop of an announcer saying that the network was experiencing difficulty was the only thing to be found. He had just turned the thing off when Peeta and Effie arrived, both rushing to Haymitch and Katniss with concern.

"We thought you'd been arrested, or worse," Effie fretted.

"No point in doing that when they can make execution look like an accident for entertainment," said Haymitch with a shrug. "But they'll be coming to make sure you're gone, Effie, so you should leave before you're forced to."

Effie nodded and hugged Katniss to her, expressing how proud she was and other blubbery nonsense so that Haymitch had a moment to pull Peeta away and speak in an undertone to him.

"Listen, kid—"

"I'll never be able to repay you, if she somehow survives this—" Peeta began.

"Yes, you will. You'll start by making sure our team is out of the Capitol before noon tomorrow. Cinna, Portia, the prep teams, anyone who worked on us. Get them out, I don't care how, but do it, because you know Snow is going to punish anyone affiliated with us after what we just did for the whole nation to see. The Games will happen fast, and however it ends, you make sure you're not here for it."

"But if Katniss wins—"

" _When_ Katniss wins," Haymitch corrected. "When it's time, you'll know what I mean, but you promise me after the tenth tribute goes down, you're gone. You get out of here and take anyone with you who's willing to leave. And don't you dare let Effie out of your sight, because I won't let Katniss out of mine."

"Haymitch, what are you talking about? After—"

"Is when you'll understand. Just promise me."

"Okay…yeah, sure, but—"

"Good."

Haymitch left no time for Peeta to say more because at any moment, he knew they were going to be interrupted by Peacekeepers or some other form of security and they should not say anything else concerning "after".

Effie had dried her eyes on Katniss's dress and now approached Haymitch.

"So this is it?" she said, failing to adopt that optimistic tone she had never before failed to achieve.

"Yeah, this is it."

She put her arms around him, but thankfully refrained from kissing him, because if she had tried, he knew he wouldn't have been able to say goodbye after.

"Thank you," she whispered into his shoulder. "Thank you for letting me in…at the end. Goodbye, Haymitch."

And then she was gone, leaving the three victors of District 12 to stand in silence in her wake.

"Can we stay with you?" asked Katniss, holding Peeta's hand.

"It seems it's the only way we'll be able to get through the night."

They went to Haymitch's room, set up the bed in the same way they had done two nights ago, and turned on the forest soundtrack. Haymitch heard gentle breathing about two hours after they had turned off the lights, but he lay awake, recalling the doomed decision from the Master of Ceremonies as he took the victors' side before the broadcast cut out.

 **|I realize that I put the interviewees in the wrong order with the male going before the female. I've committed worse crimes, and since the entire Quarter Quell was to punish Katniss, it seemed fitting to make her go last to remind her and everyone else why they were once again in the Games.|**


	7. Chapter 7: The Twenty-Fifth Tribute

Portia found him dry heaving in the corner of the launch room after he had said his goodbye to Peeta and Katniss and taken the hovercraft ride to the arena alone. He had hoped that her absence during the flight meant that she and Cinna had left the Capitol, but upon seeing her approaching him with a bag containing his arena uniform, he felt that he might actually manage to vomit up some of the muffin and banana he had forced down that morning. Waiting for him to finish, Portia unzipped the bag and brought out a black and gold wetsuit. The black far outweighed the gold since the latter was only to be seen on patches near the shoulder and back area.

"I think they're meant to deflect sunlight," said Portia, examining the material between her fingers. "But you can rule out a snowy or rocky setting. Expect the tropics and everything that comes with them."

Haymitch stripped down to his underwear, donned his wetsuit, and put on the shoes that came with it. Though they weren't the most comfortable thing, the shoes gripped the floor to prevent him from sliding, and then pushed him off to add an extra spring to his step. They also shaped to his feet immediately, as well as whatever surface he was standing on.

Portia zipped him up in the back and then tucked a somewhat crumpled primrose into a small waterproof compartment in his forearm.

"I thought you'd want a token of some sort, so I took this off of your suit last night after you'd gone to bed. I hope you don't mind."

"Nothing you do could ever upset me," said Haymitch in what he meant to be a jesting tone, but he nevertheless meant it utterly and completely. He instigated the embrace that followed and Portia let him hold on long after he normally would have let go. This could very well be his last bit of kind human contact if something went wrong right from the start.

" _Thirty seconds to launch._ "

"I'll see you after," Portia whispered into his hair.

God, how Haymitch hoped that was true.

He gave her one final squeeze and entered the tube, flexing his arms and legs to prepare for launch. Portia pulled at her face, wiping it of sadness and working it into a scowl to remind him that the Capitol needed to see his contempt, not his worry. His own scowl appeared instantly and Portia nodded as the platform below him began to ascend.

A seal above him opened and he felt himself doused in muggy, if somewhat slightly cold air. No sunlight hit his face, but a gust of wind nearly threw him from his platform and blew the entire plan quite literally out of the water as he came to a halt on his pedestal. The tributes to his left and right formed a crescent on an island shaped in a similar manner with just enough sand beneath and around them to form the island. Behind, ahead, and all sides was open water and stormy skies.

Haymitch was able to spare the briefest moment of indignation that perhaps the Gamemakers had decided to simply force all the tributes to doggy paddle or drown before he reminded himself that this was the Third Quarter Quell. It was extravagant, luxurious, blown out of proportion, enormous. There was something far more dangerous and complex than just jumping into the water or running over to other tributes and engaging in one giant fisticuffs battle. Where was the Cornucopia? The weapons and supplies?

 _Below_.

It was the only option that made sense. The tributes would have to swim for it, diving under the depths to discover what was there to be discovered. Now, if only Haymitch could be sure that he could swim. Immediately he knew he was at a disadvantage and so his hopes of being one of the first to reach this unknown destination were dashed. Finnick might get there first, or perhaps Kilo or Zelic who were, in fact, superb swimmers as their past victories denoted. But all of them were joined in Haymitch's cause, so he need not worry if they beat him to the catch. Gloss and Cashmere, on the other hand, were a problem considering that they spent the majority of their training time in the Tribute Center pool (and Haymitch had to privately wonder if someone had tipped them off about the arena in hopes of preparing them).

Ten tributes stood in the way of Plutarch's plan, one of them too far gone to comprehend what was going on, but leaving seven equally lethal tributes was still a major obstacle, especially considering that the four strongest tributes were on the opposing team. Then two more remained from Haymitch's own chosen list of people he wanted to save, but who would have to die before Plutarch could move forward.

 _Just get in the water and sort it out once you reach level ground._

Haymitch did a quick look-around for his nearest allies, all of them wearing similar wetsuits with various district-matching colored patches. To his left was Demi, to his right, Crescere. Perfect. An incompetent and an old woman. On Demi's other side was Gloss, and on Crescere's right was—

Caesar Flickerman.

Haymitch rubbed at his eyes and did a double take, positive that he had been mistaken. But no, it was most assuredly Caesar. His pea-green wig was gone, revealing—not as so many had suspected, a bald head—but a less than glamorous hair style of dark grey, _premature_ grey, but he could hardly be older than Haymitch, and Haymitch still retained his natural blonde. The grey strands hung limp off of Caesar's head, dampened by the humid air. His skin looked sickly in the pale light that came through the thunderclouds and the dye in his eyebrows was gone, replaced with a natural color that could only be black. He was wincing and as his face turned in Haymitch's direction, a nasty bruise on his right cheek was thrown into better relief. His teeth bared in pain and Haymitch saw that they looked as natural as anyone's, no longer blindingly white. Without his flamboyant, sparkling suits, ridiculous wigs, and larger-than-life smile, he looked small. Without his television persona to protect him, he was nothing but another piece of meat thrown into the Games.

But _why_ was he in the Games? What could he have possibly done to earn this? And how could Snow get away with it, tossing not just any Capitol resident, but the host of the Hunger Games for almost thirty years into the Games themselves? The audience had to be screaming in terror as the cameras settled on their beloved host and fellow citizen. And they weren't the only ones, for Haymitch saw the majority of the heads turning toward Caesar who did his best to ignore them, eyes focused on the water in front of him.

 _What did he do?_

And then it hit Haymitch; Caesar had sympathized with him during the interview. He had momentarily forgotten his ever so crucial role in supporting the Capitol and instead embraced Haymitch, televising for the entire nation to hear that Caesar regretted Haymitch's death and wished for an alternative. It seemed genuine enough and Haymitch had not thought about how Snow might consider it to be _too_ genuine. So to dispose of this man who had been the face of the Games for so long, Snow had thought of no better way than to put him into the Games, unprepared, untrained, unwilling, against the likes of Brutus and Farrow.

A rush of sympathy flooded Haymitch despite knowing that Caesar had been preparing to send another twenty-three tributes to their deaths. His were some of the last kind words the tributes ever heard, his booming personality one of the last comforting things they experienced. He had done his job well and even if his heart was shallow, he had enough sympathy in it to try and connect with every last tribute—all six hundred and forty-four of them who never made it out alive. And he was about to die for it.

" _Ladies and gentlemen, let the 75_ _th_ _Annual Hunger Games begin and may the odds be ever in your favor_."

Claudius Templesmith's voice had a slight catch to it, an emotional slip Haymitch knew was a tribute to Caesar, Claudius's friend for so long. Snow himself might have explained that Claudius now ran the show alone until Caesar's replacement could be found.

The countdown began and Haymitch finally tore his eyes away from Caesar to locate Katniss on the very last pedestal on his left, beside Tyrek. She saw him looking at her and jerked her head at the water, to which he nodded. Hoping that she was a better swimmer than he, Haymitch put his hands on his knees, prepping himself for his dive.

" _Three…two…one…_ "

The gong sounded and Haymitch let his body curve over, cutting through the water with the aid of his wetsuit. It was a fight to pull himself deeper into the water as he used a breast stroke to aid him, but as he opened his eyes against the current, he saw what looked like a city under the waves. The storm had made it almost impossible to see anything beneath the water, but this city was only a few meters below the surface. What looked like glass had to be a force field surrounding the central part of the city—the Cornucopia.

Haymitch tried to inhale, contracting his abdominal muscles to help him make the last few feet to the force field. He clawed his way forward, reaching out with one hand to push through the luminous bubble and feeling the presence of air. Grounded by this small amount of his body sticking inside the city, he was able to use it as an anchor and pull himself through. It felt like squeezing through a freezing, slippery tunnel, but as the last bit of his body—his left foot—went through the barrier, he suddenly fell to the ground, thrown off balance and disoriented by the sudden lack of water to keep him suspended horizontally. He hit the floor hard on his shoulder and a loud _clang_ announced that it was made of metal.

Sopping wet and choking, Haymitch staggered to his feet, searching about wildly for the nearest weapon. He was a good twenty feet from the closest item, but Finnick was already at the mouth of the Cornucopia, snatching up two tridents and then spinning around to confront the next tribute. Second to the mouth was Olathe, and she took hold of four sais, tucking them into her belt as she guarded Finnick's back. The light of battle readiness was on her face, giving life to what Haymitch had long suspected was a lost cause. Seeing that he was third through the force field, Haymitch ran to them, searching about for a familiar weapon and deciding on a pack of knives as well as a lance.

August, Blight, and Johanna were next to join them, but Brutus, Tyrek, Enobaria, and Gloss had already banded together and charged Haymitch's group. Knowing that hand to hand combat would surely get him killed, Haymitch backed off, allowing Finnick, August, and Johanna to show off their skills to defend the Cornucopia as he sneaked around to get back out to the force field and wait for Katniss. He saw Farrow and Enid about to break through closer to him while Katniss was struggling to pull herself inside far off to his right. Behind her, Mags was holding onto her foot to avoid floating back up to the surface.

Zelic and Amara had just broken through and ran, slipping and sliding to where Katniss was desperately holding on. They reached through the force field and latched onto Mags's forearms, yanking her into the shelter of the underwater city and setting her down carefully. Before they could assist Katniss, however, Cashmere appeared and closed her arm around Katniss's throat. Haymitch ran for her, preparing to launch himself back out into the water if necessary, when he saw another body descend on the battling women.

It was Caesar, gliding as gracefully as any skilled swimmer through the water to grab Cashmere by the leg and yank her backwards. Surprised by his appearance, Cashmere released Katniss, allowing Haymitch and the victors of Five to pull her through. Haymitch instructed them to run to Finnick's aid as he turned back around to watch Caesar and Cashmere grappling just beyond the boundaries of the force field. Cashmere clawed at Caesar's face, but he lifted his leg and kicked her in the stomach, forcing her higher so that she had to once again battle with the water to reach the city.

Haymitch turned his lance around and offered out the handle to Caesar who took hold and allowed Haymitch to yank him inside. No time was spared to speak, for at that moment, they heard a cry of despair as Brutus, having obtained his favored spear, impaled Wiress through the stomach. It appeared as if she had been attempting to defend Finnick and the others by throwing cans of food at the Careers. Poor, misguided Wiress had tried to help in the only way she knew how. As the spear head left her body, Beetee let out a scream to see his dear friend felled by Brutus.

Rounding on Beetee, Brutus stalked forward with the air of a predator descending on its trapped prey. Haymitch shook the lance out of Caesar's grasp, tucked back his arm, and hurtled his weapon, knowing he would miss his mark, but hoping to distract Brutus all the same. It worked—and Haymitch cursed as Brutus ran for him instead. Armed now only with his knives against Brutus's spear, Haymitch took one in each hand, not having any plan other than to die on his feet.

Finnick and Stele intercepted Brutus, leaving Haymitch time to see Farrow bashing Demi's head into one of the jagged edges of the Cornucopia. Blood splattered out from the place of impact and her skull burst. Haymitch felt a pang of guilt, but also relief in his chest, for Demi's existence—trapped in a body that couldn't think for itself—was all that kept her tethered to the world, but now she was at peace. He didn't know if Farrow's motives had been pure or not, but he had a strong suspicion that Crescere had asked Farrow to get to Demi first so that no Career could prolong her death and mess about with her. If these had been Crescere's instructions, Farrow had followed through in making Demi's death quick and nearly painless.

Not far from them, Johanna was down, nursing her maimed leg as Gloss stood over her with a gladius, preparing to finish his work. Blight threw himself between them and matched blades with Gloss, pushing him back, away from Johanna. It was not a fair fight under any circumstances; Gloss was enormous next to Blight and the former knew how to handle his weapon where Blight was probably using his for the first time, if only to protect his district partner and friend. Gloss was not nearly as large as Brutus, but still quite tall and muscular, a giant compared to Blight's small, lean form, and so when the final blow came, it came hard.

After his fifth lucky parry, Blight's luck ran dry and Gloss's blade came down across the hand that held Blight's sword, severing three fingers so that Blight was forced to drop his weapon. Defenseless, he tried to dodge the inevitable attack, but he was not quick enough and Gloss drove his sword into Blight's liver, twisting and pushing until the blade came out through Blight's lower back. Putting all of his weight into his thrust, Gloss lifted his sword slightly and Blight's feet left the ground, his body going limp as his intestines began to spill out.

Feeling his small breakfast about to come up his throat, Haymitch was on the verge of chucking one of his knives at Gloss's unguarded back when something knocked against his head and sent him sprawling. Stars winked beneath the water at him as the floor flew up to smack him in the cheek. He saw Cashmere's face move in and out of focus as she brought her fists together and prepared to cave in Haymitch's nose.

An arm grabbed her around the middle, lifting her bodily and throwing her backwards. Caesar landed on top of her, pressing his arm against her windpipe so that she was forced to fight for breath. She was bigger than Caesar, athletically thin like her brother, but in the face of death, she panicked. Her fingers scrabbled at Caesar's neck to make him release her and he was obviously struggling with the effort of holding her down, evident of his labored panting as she kicked and punched beneath him. Her efforts did not last long as her face began to turn red, then blue, then purple as her oxygen supply dwindled. When her feet ceased kicking, Caesar released her throat, backed away, and surveyed the battlefield.

Finnick had rallied two thirds of their allies against a door behind the Cornucopia as the Careers and District 8 stalked them tauntingly. Katniss had two arrows drawn as she paced backwards, relying on Zelic and Amara to help her make a steady escape while she looked to Haymitch.

 _Go._ Haymitch told her with a nod.

Stepping to the forefront of the retreating party, Kilo threw down what appeared to be a smoke grenade, blinding the Career pack. Hidden by the thick, yellow smoke, Katniss and the others disappeared through the door and the Careers gave chase.

 _She has eight people to protect her. She'll be fine until you find her again._

"Caesar."

Startled, terrified, Caesar spun back around to face Haymitch and his hands went up almost laughingly into a fighter's defensive stance, as if he stood a chance with his bare fists against Haymitch's knives—if Haymitch had half a mind to kill him. But Caesar had just inadvertently saved Haymitch's life, so Haymitch couldn't very well kill him—not without knowing why Caesar was here in the first place and why he had just scored quite a fantastic feat in killing a Career within the first ten minutes of the Games.

"Easy," said Haymitch, lowering his knives. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"You would have every reason to," said Caesar and without his plastic smile, Haymitch could see that he was rather feeble chinned as well as unsure about the words coming out of his mouth. A doubtful Caesar Flickerman was an odd no one could have guessed in these Games.

"We need to leave, circle back around to meet up with the others," Haymitch instructed. "I can almost guarantee that all the rooms in this city eventually connect."

"And why would you want me as an ally?" questioned Caesar, refusing to lower his fists.

"Because you did _that_ ," said Haymitch, gesturing at Cashmere's body, "Without weapons, without thinking, without hesitating. You could have let her kill me, as she intended when she knocked me over. I would be harder to kill in hand-to-hand combat than her, but you pulled her off instead of letting her finish me like she intended. And now, since you've murdered one fourth of the Careers, not including their allies, they won't be too keen on welcoming you into their group, so you can go it alone or come with me."

Caesar had no time to debate, for Stele and Olathe presently joined them with Mags holding onto Stele's neck as he carried her. They were the three left behind when Katniss and Finnick's group ran for it, only because they had stayed to both grab weapons and check the bodies of the fallen in the hopes of saving any survivors. Stele had two slightly curved swords on his hips and set Mags down, drawing both of them as he realized who Haymitch's partner was.

"No, wait, _wait,_ he's fine!" shouted Haymitch, running to place himself between Stele's vengeful glare and Caesar's uncertain stare. "He's good. He just saved my ass."

"How?" Stele demanded.

"Cashmere.," said Haymitch. "She's his kill."

At this, Stele and Olathe looked to Cashmere's bloated face where her veins were starting to trickle upward to fill her head with blood. Caesar spared one brief glance at the product of his own two hands and promptly turned away to vomit.

"Disgusting," muttered Stele. "They watch children rip each others' intestines out on television, but don't have the stomach for seeing a dead body up close."

"I killed her," moaned Caesar, wiping his mouth with his wetsuit sleeve. "That's something no one in the Capitol can claim."

"Not as pretty when you can smell the rotting corpse, is it?"

"I never said it was—"

"You've narrated the Games for almost thirty years; don't pretend that you don't get turned on by seeing these things—"

"He's here for a reason, Stele," said Olathe quietly. "He killed _her_ , not one of us."

"You can take my word for it or not, but he's coming with me and if you have a problem with that, you can wait for the Careers to come back to claim the Cornucopia," said Haymitch, searching about for a replacement weapon for his javelin and choosing a sword with a jagged hook to it that seemed perfect for looping it around an enemy's neck before yanking and beheading them. Mentally sizing up Caesar's measurements, Haymitch dug through another box of weapons before coming up with a short sword with a thick blade.

He offered it to Caesar. "Can you use one of these?"

"Anyone can, but if you're asking whether or not I'm accurate with weapons like these…"

Haymitch waited for an explanation.

"No, the answer is no, I don't have any idea how to use a weapon."

"Then learn fast. This is yours."

He tossed it into Caesar's open hands, but for someone who had never wielded a weapon in his life, Caesar wasn't expecting the surprising weight of the thing and promptly dropped it on the floor where it clattered for several deafening seconds in the stillness that followed the bloodbath. He bent to pick it up, averting his gaze in embarrassment.

"Sorry, I wasn't ready," he muttered.

Behind him, Stele scoffed.

Mags took a small knife from the weapons supply and stuck it in her wetsuit belt, then found a small but nevertheless crucial medical kit, which she strung over her shoulder. She pointed out a few small packs of food and canteens of water since there was a good chance they would not be returning to the Cornucopia for some time. Each of them stuffed a backpack with supplies and slung it across their backs.

"We'd better get moving so the bodies can be collected," Haymitch suggested.

"Speaking of which, it was just the four of them in the bloodbath, right?" asked Stele, recounting the bodies on the battlefield. "And everyone else led the Careers off, didn't they? Is anyone unaccounted for?"

"Crescere," said Olathe quietly. "I never saw her come down. Maybe she can't swim."

They all glanced at the enormous pulsing bubble above them and to all but one of their sides. Somewhere on the surface, Crescere might be waiting—or already dead.

"It's a possibility," mused Caesar. "But if she can't, she's the only one up there, and that's more than you could hope for. As long as no one thinks to swim back up to the surface, she'll be safe."

"A lot of us didn't know how to swim when the week began," said Haymitch. "We were lucky the Tribute Center had a pool to practice in."

"Luck had nothing to do with it," said Caesar with a bit of a wry smile. "I wasn't given much insight, but I knew that water would play a major role in this arena. Since I host the Games, I have a major influence on the people who choose the latest styles in the Capitol and so the Gamemakers only gave me the most minute clues, just enough to spread the word that blues and aqua-greens were trending, but meanwhile I knew that water in large quantities would either involve rain with the potential of a flood, or a vast body of water like an ocean or lake. I also knew that not everyone who would be reaped would know how to swim, given that only one or two of your districts are near open water, so I asked the Gamemakers to include a swimming pool in the new Tribute Center to give everyone a fair chance at learning. My argument was that it would be extremely dull to watch twenty-four people bob around in the water or stay standing on their pedestals if they didn't know how to swim, so they needed a good sporting chance to get in whatever training you could. Three days isn't nearly enough time, but it was the best I could do."

"How noble of you," said Stele with false gratitude.

"It helped him," said Caesar, nodding at Haymitch. "I know Haymitch didn't know how to swim five days ago and if he hadn't had that pool, he would have jumped in and gotten himself killed. Granted, neither Gloss nor Cashmere knew how to swim either, and so my suggestion helped them learn as well, but that's a double-edged sword that I'm willing to contend with."

"You'd better be willing, because that sword might just stick you the way Gloss's stuck Blight."

"Alright, enough," said Haymitch, coming between Caesar and Stele. "We're moving out now. Mags, can you walk, or do you need one of us to carry you?"

Mags picked up a spear that had been carelessly tossed aside by a Career in favor of a better-suited weapon and tested its durability as a walking stick. With a nod, she gestured that Haymitch should lead the way.

There were twelve metallic doors to choose from, all of them equal distances from the Cornucopia and all of them similar down to the specks of dust on them. Deciding against following the Careers in case the latter had set up a trap, Haymitch chose a door at random and pressed his fist against the large green button that would activate the opening mechanisms. The door slid open diagonally in two separate parts, revealing a desolate, narrow, and dimly-lit hallway made of the same metal that the Cornucopia, the floor, and the door seemed to be made of.

They went forward with Stele watching the back, Haymitch leading the way, and the other three glancing left and right for any sign of movement. After about fifteen minutes of this, they came upon another door which activated when Haymitch stepped on a pressure pad on the floor. Beyond the door was an unextraordinary room that could fit about fifty people shoulder-to-shoulder and at the far end of the room was another door to lead further into the underwater city.

"There's no way to tell where we're going," said Olathe. "It's a maze."

"Then we'll mark it so that we'll know if we've been here," Haymitch suggested, striking his sword against one of the walls to create a hash mark. It was faint, and he only knew it was there because he had just delivered it, but if he was running through the room at full speed, he would miss it.

"That's not going to work," said Stele. "We need some brightly-colored paint or dye to make it stand out."

"Because we have a lot of that laying around," said Haymitch.

"I'm just stating a fact; there's no need to use that tone with me."

"Well, unless you want to walk all the way back to the Cornucopia and go through every box of supplies looking for neon paint, you'd better come up with a better suggestion."

Caesar strode forward, holding out his hand to Haymitch. Nonplussed, Haymitch shrugged, so Caesar took one of the knives from his belt and slid it across his open palm so that blood instantly caked his entire hand. He went to a distinguishable light fixture on the left-hand side of the room and made a messy "x" with his blood before turning back around and walking to the door.

Rooted by this demonstration at a complete lack of concern involving the spilling of his own blood, Haymitch was the last one to follow Caesar into the next hallway. Mags offered to cut off one of her sleeves to wrap Caesar's hand, but he declined, insisting that he keep his wound uncovered so that he could continue marking their path. After half an hour of this, though, Haymitch knew it couldn't be agreeing with Caesar's health, as the eerie glow from the lights didn't disguise the fact that he was starting to turn both pale and green.

"Let's stop for a bit," said Haymitch, and watched Caesar fall rather than lean into the wall for support, flexing his hand and cradling it to his chest. "Time to wrap that."

"I'll be fine," said Caesar.

"You've been recklessly brave enough for one day. Let me see your hand."

Reluctantly, Caesar held out his palm to Haymitch and using an antiseptic cream from a medical kit in one of the packs, Haymitch dressed the wound while forcing a pouch of clotted fruit paste on Caesar to help him replenish some of his strength. Sipping at the pouch with a look of slight disgust, Caesar said nothing while Haymitch applied the finishing touches to his battle dressing, though this did not go unnoticed by Stele.

"Not the five star quality food you're used to?" he challenged.

Without acknowledging him through eye contact, Caesar spoke to the floor, saying flatly, "This has lemon in it. I have a mild allergy toward lemons, so if I start to swell up in my face, you'll know that I'm about to go into shock. Hopefully there's some form of allergy countermeasure in the medical kit."

"Give me that," said Haymitch quickly, snatching the pouch away and replacing it with a strip of dried beef. "Why did you keep drinking it?"

"Because I don't have a very good sense of smell and I couldn't tell if it was lemon or just citrus in general since the ingredients aren't listed on the pouch."

Digging around in the medical kit from her pack, Mags produced a bottle of pills intended to stop itching and rashes. It was all they had, so Haymitch made Caesar take two pills with water and then watched him for signs of a reaction. Several minutes crept by in silence since the walls muffled sounds, making the arena seem more like a tomb than a city.

Then the cannons sounded and Haymitch went over the known casualties of the day in time with each cannon.

One, Wiress. Two, Demi. Three, Blight. Four, Cashmere. Five.

"There's no way of knowing until the anthem tonight," said Stele, rubbing out the aches in his arms from carrying Mags as the cannons stopped and they were left to ponder over which of their comrades or enemies lay dead in addition to the four from the bloodbath. "The last death could be anyone. It's a city, and it's underwater, so it'd be impossible to hear them, anyway."

"I would wager that the final cannon of the day goes to Crescere," said Caesar in the same bored tone he had used when describing his allergy.

Stele punched Caesar once in the jaw, then again in the stomach, and Caesar recoiled, raising his arm to deflect any more potential blows. Advancing on him, Stele drew one of his swords. "One more word out of you, and I'll knock all of your teeth out."

"No, you won't. Don't hit him again," said Olathe. "He was just thrown in here without any preparation, knowing that everyone would turn on him, but he still chose to help us. Leave him alone."

"You're not upset with the way he talks about people dying, like it's some boring fact to mark off in a data book?" asked Stele. "Even if it was Crescere, or Enid, or Beetee, they're still victors, still people with lives that were torn apart by being thrown back into this damned arena and he doesn't understand that. His job has always been to commentate it and look at the camera and say, 'oh, well'. He would have shrugged and announced your survival time for all of Panem to see, then gone about his day and not lost a wink of sleep over it, so how can you stand there and defend him?"

"I've already explained why."

"Well, then, when I die, maybe his deadpan commentary will keep you entertained for a bit longer," Stele snapped and Olathe flinched as if she had been struck.

"That was uncalled for," said Haymitch. "You, of all people, saying something like that to her."

"It's him," Stele insisted, glancing vehemently at Caesar. "I don't want him anywhere near us."

"It's not just me," said Caesar, nursing his jaw. "I'm the only thing connected to the Capitol that you can lash out at, but the Capitol discarded me when it shot me up out of the launch tubes, so clearly I'm not affiliated with them anymore, or were the bruises not obvious enough?" He gestured at his face that still made Haymitch cringe at how painful of a beating he must have suffered before coming into the Games.

But Caesar wasn't finished telling Stele off and as his words spilled out, his courage seemed to grow. "You're angry because I know the statistics and likelihood of things happening in here better than anyone and I can accept it much easier than you can. I haven't become desensitized to the slaughter, Stele, but I can control my emotions when I suspect what has happened or when I see someone die. I know Crescere as well as any of the tributes and I know that if she's dead, it's for a good reason because I know she stayed topside unless the Gamemakers made a storm to force her down here. And you know damn well that she wasn't going to survive anyway because of everything working against her, only you're having trouble coming to grips with that because you're just now letting it hit you that you're going to die in here. You've been in denial, but the death of someone close to you just brought you back to reality like a hard punch to the gut."

Stele swung at him again, but Caesar ducked low, swiping out at Stele's legs with the flat of his sword so that Stele ended up on his back, winded. Standing over him, though without menace, Caesar stated, "That's the third time you attempted to hit me; there will not be a fourth. I have no reason to kill you other than the reason you give me, so don't give me one."

"You already have one. I'm one of the tributes standing in the way of your victory," said Stele with hatred.

"I'm not delusional enough to think that I'm going to win this when the likes of Brutus and Finnick are in much better shape than I am, but we all stand in the way of anyone else's victory, yet you'll notice that none of us are trying to kill each other at the moment. I know you don't plan on surviving either because you want Olathe to win, but you're not going to kill any of us yet because you still need us, as we need you. So pull your head out of your ass and stop pouting like a child."

Haymitch had never heard a foul word come from Caesar's mouth before, but the ease with which the latter said it suggested that in trusted company and the safety of his own home, he used expletives quite often.

The look with which Stele regarded Caesar suggested that he had a drawn-out, agonizing death planned for the Master of Ceremonies, but he was given no opportunity to offer a rebuttal as a siren blared overhead and the yellow lights flashed crimson.

"Everyone up," said Haymitch. "Stick close together, single file, let's move. Stele, you have Mags. Olathe, take the rear. Caesar—"

"The doors!" shouted Caesar, pointing ahead and behind at the rapidly closing doors.

Haymitch had a sinking feeling that once the two metallic barriers shut, whatever was trapped between them was in for an unpleasant Gamemaker surprise. He grabbed Caesar by the front of his wetsuit and shoved him ahead, yelling for the others to follow. They sprinted for the door that would lead on and threw themselves through it. Olathe was the last to clear it, squeezing between the grilles just before they slammed together. If it had been any of the three men bringing up the rear, they would have been crushed between the two door parts.

Glancing back into the room through the two by two window, Haymitch saw fire instantly spray the entire room.

With a gulp to steady and then reassure himself, Haymitch said, "Well, everyone should take note that the rooms are booby traps and that you should be prepared to run through them at any given moment once you hear that siren."

"Good to know," said Caesar, watching the flames in deadpan fascination. "Shall we, then?"

They continued on, coming to a fork for the first time with the option to continue ahead or go left. Once again choosing a direction at random, Haymitch went first, followed by Olathe and then Stele who was still carrying Mags when he saw Stele's foot activate a pressure pad.

Instantly, a thick, metal wall shot up between Stele and Caesar and before Haymitch could even shout out a warning, they were sealed off from Caesar as if he had never been there. Haymitch pressed his ear to the warm metal and hammered on it, listening for a response.

"I can't find a switch," came Caesar's voice, though it sounded like he was both shouting across a chasm and also speaking through a semi-muted comlink. "I'll have to find a way around. Keep going and don't wait for me. Remember the blood smears."

Haymitch stomped down repeatedly on the pressure pad, but the wall didn't give way to his tantrum. "Goddammit!" he cursed. "Why didn't you watch where you were stepping?"

"What's it matter?" asked Stele in indignation. "Now we have one less person to worry about—"

"We still have to worry about him, but now we can't protect him. The Careers will eat him alive."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Yes, because they'll torture him for sport. He's not a victor, so they don't feel any sense of kinship with him. We have to find him before they do."

"That's not _my_ priority, and I'm surprised that you feel that it's yours."

Haymitch shoved Stele in the chest. "My priority is to avoid dying and keep these Games from becoming a vicious slaughter on top of finding Katniss and keeping her glued to my side, but that man you just wrote off saved my life and ended up in this arena because he didn't agree with what the Capitol is doing to us. He called them out on live television and openly supported us. He's smart enough to know what that would mean for him, yet he still did it, and now he's here, so as far as I'm concerned, he's earned his due respect. So we will dedicate ourselves to finding him…before something worse does."


	8. Chapter 8: A Unique Type of Execution

Time almost didn't exist beneath the water. Haymitch's body told him that he had been awake for nearly a full day, but he had no way of telling in this tomb of metal, moving from room to identical room and marking them with a thumbprint of blood in an easily observed spot. The others followed his lead, but he could tell that they were tiring and wanted nothing more than to get a few hours' rest, so he called them to a halt in one of the hallways.

Mags curled up on the floor and promptly fell asleep without going through her pack for food or water. Stele and Olathe shared a quarter of a canteen, ate half a can of lamb stew apiece, and then told Haymitch to rouse them after two hours. They lay down back to back, but before they could even close their eyes, the ceiling above them split into a giant screen from which the Capitol seal was projected to display the casualties of the day. In absence of an artificial sky, the Gamemakers had had to compensate by showing the fallen from as high of a vantage point as they could manage.

Haymitch almost didn't need to look up because besides the last cannon, he knew who he would see frowning down at him.

Cashmere, Wiress, Demi, Blight, Crescere.

Caesar had called it. However it had ended for her, it had happened before Haymitch ever managed to return her comforting words. It could have been a Career, or Farrow performing euthanasia, or a creature living in the water surrounding the city, or from drowning. Haymitch might never find out and he didn't want to. Sometimes it was better off not knowing…

Halfway into his shift, he felt a subtle vibration in the floor beneath him and he placed his palm against the metal to try and detect the direction from which the vibration was coming from. Having been moving about for most of the day, he never had time to pause and listen or feel how movement had an impact on the city. Though he knew that it was a tossup whether or not he would hear anything from the others as they moved about the city, he didn't consider that he might be able to sense someone approaching through different senses.

Reaching sideways to pick up Mags's spear walking-stick, he grasped it in his dominant hand while his foot searched for Stele's arm to quietly rouse him. Stele awoke with a start as Haymitch's waterproof slip-on shoe made contact with him, but when he saw Haymitch's semi-attentive stance while watching the door at the end of the long corridor, he had sense enough to keep calm, draw his swords, and then tapped Olathe with the tip of one. Olathe nodded as she too sensed the danger in the situation and moved to shake Mags awake. The four of them waited as the floor began to tremble with the impact of something large coming their way.

"I hope you can aim with that thing," said Stele as Haymitch hefted the spear into throwing position.

"You're up next if I can't," said Haymitch in response.

The metallic doors slid open and a pile of bodies fell into their corridor. Haymitch pulled back his spear at the last moment to see Katniss, Zelic, and Amara land in a confusing mess of limbs and weapons in front of them.

"Dammit, Katniss, I could hear you coming for three minutes before that door opened. Are you trying to send up a flare to tell the Careers where you are, because if so, that's an excellent strategy to get yourself killed."

Disentangling herself from her allies, Katniss accepted Haymitch's offer to help her up and then she gave him a slight shove. "Well, where the hell were you? We haven't stopped moving since the Cornucopia."

"We only stopped for about an hour just now to rest, so it hasn't exactly been easy-going, sweetheart."

"Is there anyone else with you?" asked Amara.

"There was, but we got separated."

"Same," said Zelic. "The hallway split us off and we had to make do with what we had. We lost track of Kilo a few minutes in, then Finnick, August, and Enid fell behind to help Johanna and Beetee when we had to run across the room to avoid the volts that were going off at ten second intervals. Another room froze over instantly and I know there were more that had some sort of torture or trap inside of them, but we didn't stick around to find out. We've just been moving so that the Gamemakers can't catch us unprepared in any of those death rooms."

"Then I suggest we continue to keep moving," said Stele.

"They look like they could use some rest," said Olathe quietly. "Couldn't we wait an hour for them to at least catch their breath and replenish some of their energy?"

"Not if we don't want whatever or whoever heard them to come charging in after us," said Stele. "We keep moving." It was his statement to make, but by the way he glanced at Haymitch, he knew it wasn't necessarily his decision.

"Just for a little while, then we'll take a quick break," said Haymitch, leaning to the side of sympathy.

They made up a band of weary zombies, trudging through the metal caverns quietly, but clumsily so that anything might catch them by surprise. Though he was beyond spent for the day, Zelic took his turn carrying Mags who was starting to sleep walk and fall behind. Katniss stayed right behind Haymitch, per his request since he already felt guilty about losing sight of her within the first ten minutes of the Games when he had promised Peeta that he would stay beside her at all times.

His mind went to the one place he was trying to keep it from going as he considered what had happened to his team. Had Peeta managed to persuade them to leave? Had they been taken prisoner by Snow to pay for the blatant display of insubordination from Haymitch and Katniss? His brain conjured up an image of Effie screaming as they shot electric volts into her body and he shivered, slapping himself to get a grip before he had a meltdown on camera and let all of Panem know how important his misguided escort, stylist, and prep team actually were to him.

It was to the point where nearly all of them were about to follow Mags's lead and start a chain of sleep walkers when they passed through an open doorway that led to an expansive room that looked like a scene from Zelic's Games of a deserted apocalyptic city. The room was a quarter of the size of the Cornucopia cavern, but with a ceiling just as low as the rest of the corridors and death compartments. It was also brightly lit, and filled with miscellaneous junk like a pile of metal scraps, broken weapon parts, and a rusted vehicle. In the center of the room, the Careers were gathered around their prey in true attack formation, though no one seemed to be attacking at the moment. On the contrary, they were all sizing up their opponent—and of course, it had to be Caesar. They had him strung up by his wrists to a series of pipes above so that he could only stand on the balls of his feet. A wad of cloth had been stuffed into his mouth, but besides a small trickle of blood coming out from under his hair, he appeared unscathed.

Gloss was circling Caesar, voicing his thoughts aloud to the others.

"Snow obviously put him in here to make a point, but as to whether or not it's directed at us, I don't know. What I do know is that he killed my sister."

Haymitch hadn't considered how Gloss would react to his sister's killer because Haymitch hadn't banked on letting Gloss anywhere near Caesar. Now that he had openly failed in that regard, he had to act fast before Gloss decided to make Caesar pay for every second of it.

"We need a solution, and we need it now," he told the others desperately as they staked out behind their pile of scraps. "Katniss, can you take them out?"

"Not before one of them got to Caesar," said Katniss. "My reload time isn't fast enough for that."

"Besides rushing them, I don't see that we can do much," said Amara. "And even then, they might just stab him and then run for it. If they see that we're trying to protect him, they'll kill him immediatey."

"If that vehicle still works, I can cause a distraction and give the rest of you time to get him out," said Zelic, examining the rusted hunk of metal off to their right. "I refuse to believe that the Gamemakers put something with four working wheels deliberately in an underwater city for no reason. It's there for me, if I can figure out how to hotwire it."

"It's just another piece of junk. Look at it. The rust has worn away parts of the car," Katniss insisted.

"But look at the tires. They're pristine. Well, maybe not pristine like the cars in the Capitol, because they're covered in dirt and slime to make them look unusable, but it's just a mask to make everyone else think the car is undriveable. But for those who know what to look for, that vehicle is a gold mine. The outer body was strategically designed to look unappealing, but I'll bet you that everything underneath works just fine. I have to give it a shot, and if I'm somehow wrong, I'll blare the horn or draw their attention however I can, and then the rest of you do what you have to do."

"And you think this is the better course of action instead of taking on the Careers right now?" asked Stele.

"They have five brutal, experienced warriors. All of us combined have as much skill as they do. We know how to use our weapons, but we're not as competent as Finnick or August would be in this situation. I don't know about the rest of you, but I don't find the idea of matching blades with Brutus ideal unless absolutely necessary," said Zelic.

"You don't find this necessary?" said Olathe, wincing as she saw Gloss deliver a hard punch to Caesar's gut. Haymitch saw it too and could practically feel the blow from here.

"He's right; we'd lose," said Haymitch quickly. "Katniss might be able to get off a few shots, but then we'd be swamped. I can use a sword; I'm not an expert. The same goes for Stele and Amara. But Zelic and Katniss have never had to use blades to fight and Mags can barely hold a weapon, forget about wielding one. You know how to use your weapons, Olathe, but you can't defend all of us, and even if you could, you're still outmatched. We're going with Zelic's plan and if that doesn't work, _then_ we'll consider a frontal assault."

Mags tapped her wrist to an imaginary watch, indicating that they were short on time before the Careers decided to do something unforgivable to Caesar.

"Here it goes, then," said Zelic.

Amara kissed him and then he crawled on his stomach over to the next heap of scraps, making slow, but steady progress toward the seemingly worthless car.

"He's half your size," Tyrek was telling Brutus as he prodded Caesar with his axe. "And he took out a Career in the first five minutes. Tell me again that he's a clueless Capitol citizen."

"He's not clueless, but he is dangerous," said Enobaria. "We could use that. He obviously knows a lot more about how to win than he's letting on."

"I'm not having the man who murdered my sister team up with me!" Gloss thundered, which made the rest of the pack take an uncertain step back from him. "Snow put him in here for whatever goddamn reason, and it got my sister killed. If the rest of you want to continue to have me as a teammate, I say he dies, and slowly. He's not a victor, he's not from the districts, and he's not one of us."

"Yes, he is," said Ramie.

"Excuse me?"

"As someone who takes her job of finding lovers extremely seriously, I do my research on any potentials and I have the money to pay for what I want to find out about them. I have so many dirty little secrets I could tell you all—and a lot of them are about you individually. But Caesar here is the second-most sought-after bachelor in the Capitol, the first being Head Peacekeeper Morgue who oversees Snow's mansion security. And what no one knew about our Master of Ceremonies here is that he isn't Capitol-born. He came from District 7 as a special project that some Capitol fools put together. It wasn't very well publicized at the time, but there was a period in the Capitol when everyone had trouble conceiving—due to some virus or plague that made the women stagnant and the children die off. Capitol citizens put together a charity—and when I say charity, they were trying to get all the publicity they could—to adopt orphans in the districts."

Ramie looped her arm around Caesar's waist and he flinched, but she took no notice.

"Caesar's parents had died in a transportation accident when one of the trains derailed. His mother had been a worker, and his father had been a Peacekeeper trying to clear the tracks of any civilians. He'd been at the orphanage for about two years when the Capitol announced its plans to rehome at least half of Panem's orphan population. At six years old, he found himself displayed to a long list of Capitol parents looking to adopt. The older children weren't selected because they'd already developed hatred for the Capitol, but the younger children were malleable, and Caesar was still quite young. The orphanage showed him off like livestock and some rich family adopted him, so away he went to the Capitol. Having rich parents helped him gain notoriety and his bursting personality caught the attention of talent scouts until he got an interview with Snow to replace the previous Master of Ceremonies and at twenty, he became the youngest host Panem had ever had."

Ruffling Caesar's hair, Ramie smirked at Gloss.

"So, on a technicality, Caesar is from the districts, even if he is a product of Capitol influence."

Had Haymitch had time to marvel at this newly revealed information, he would gladly have done so, but instead he only felt his fear mounting as he glanced at the vehicle, looking in vain for signs of movement.

"That doesn't change the fact that he took my sister's life," snapped Gloss. "I don't care what sort of sad childhood he had; he belongs to a completely different breed of human—the type that haven't been in the Games before. He should have been the first to die, but a fifth of us are already dead, and he's still here. That makes my stomach roil."

"Then kill him," suggested Enobaria. "Stick him with your sword, and let's go. There's no use keeping him around if we're not going to use him to our advantage, so let's get it over with and be on our way. We have more dangerous opponents to worry about."

If this was Enobaria's way of deflecting Gloss from torturing Caesar to uphold her promise to Haymitch, it wasn't working.

"Maybe we can use him as a bargaining chip," said Brutus. "We left a few tributes behind when we chased off the main group, and I know he was still at the Cornucopia, which means those other tributes didn't kill him, even though they had the chance. They might be willing to trade something for him, or we could use him as bait."

"Or we could let me solve the problem in any way I see fit," Ramie suggested, tracing Caesar's gagged lips with her finger before addressing him. "I think Snow put you in here as a present for me. He knows how I like to play with my food first. And I think he wants to satisfy our need for justice. Of course he didn't stop the Games, but he did give us someone straight from the heart of the Capitol to toy with in compensation. If he really wants to see what we think of everyone in the Capitol, he won't be disappointed, because when we're done here, no one will ever know you were Caesar Flickerman, Master of Ceremonies. You'll be unrecognizable and then, maybe I'll feel better about this whole 'reaping of the victors' bullshit."

"Whatever you're going to do, Ramie, get on with it. We can't stay in one room for too long," said Tyrek, obviously bored with his district partner's proceedings.

"You'll have your turn to carve off a piece of him, but before you do, I'm going to have my way with him."

Haymitch could see that Gloss and Brutus were looking uncomfortable about what Ramie meant, which was rich, considering that Gloss had been fully supportive of torturing Caesar, but apparently his sadism didn't extend to rape. But they weren't stupid; they knew exactly what she had in store for their prisoner, and the thought nearly made Haymitch vomit.

 _Come on, Zelic._

"After all, I think a lot of the viewers will appreciate this, seeing what their darling host looks like when he loses all restraint and gives in to the animalistic nature. A lot of people in the Capitol have wanted to have sex with Caesar Flickerman, but since they can't, I'll give them the next best thing, which is the pleasure of seeing you engage with someone else. And don't look so put out," Ramie scolded as Caesar's alert brown eyes grew wide with dread. "You're going to be my first out of everyone in this arena. Well, give or take a few," she added with a wink at Tyrek. "So you have that to look forward to. It's not as much fun coming in second place or even third, but I'm sure the other men in this arena won't mind. Everyone wants something before they die, right? So they'll all get a chance, after you."

Ramie ran her fingers through Caesar's hair again, which was damp with sweat.

"Let me know if you want to try anything unique. I'm flexible."

"Hurry up and meet us when you're done," said Brutus, motioning for Gloss and Enobaria to follow him to the nearest door.

"You're not staying to watch the show?" asked Ramie, working at Caesar's wetsuit zipper.

"I have a strong stomach, but it doesn't include sexual assault. I came here to get the job done fast, kill and get out. I don't have time for this shit and I don't approve of it. So we'll meet you when you're done."

This was news to Haymitch. The most brutal of the victors didn't have the stomach for what Ramie was about to do to Caesar, but he was still going to let it happen instead of stopping her, killing her, or killing Caesar, if only to spare him.

"Then I'll fill you in later," said Ramie, but before she could slide the wetsuit off of Caesar's shoulders, Tyrek turned around to follow the other Careers out. She called out to her district partner to stop, but none of them turned back to her summons.

Haymitch's group was about to lose their chance to wipe out the Career pack in one go and Caesar was going to pay for it.

"Dammit, Zelic, what are you waiting for?" cursed Haymitch under his breath.

"Well, it looks like it's just the two of us, but we don't need them when we already have an audience, so be sure to put on a good show. Grunt or curse or scream. I like it when men scream," said Ramie, pushing Caesar's suit down to his waist, revealing a heavily bruised torso with what looked like marks from a club across his back and arms.

Snow's work, the final preparations before sending Caesar to his death with twenty-four experienced killers. His stature was small, pale, and somewhat hairy around the chest area, but contrary to what he always joked about with his beloved audience, he was not as unfit as they had always been led to believe. He had toned arms, a flatter stomach that Haymitch's (and Haymitch hardly saw how this was fair since the rich food Caesar could afford and the alcohol Haymitch turned to should have had the same effect on their bodies). But he was trembling now, in fear or anger at what Ramie was about to do to him.

Ramie started to ease the wetsuit down further and now with only this one Career holding him hostage, Caesar fought back, kicking out at her to ward her off, but for all of his efforts, Ramie was still the deadlier of the two, and she fastened her garrote around his neck so that he instantly went still.

"There'll be none of that, or you'll go slow. I could keep you alive for days, picking you apart until you beg me to end it. You'll sell your soul for me to put you down. Or, you can let me do what I came to do, and I'll be quick about finishing afterwards. You're not going to win, but I'm giving you the option to choose how painful your exit is."

Spitting something through his gag, Caesar thrashed again and Ramie sighed. "If I must…" She tightened her garrote around Caesar's neck, squeezing hard enough to cut off his air as her other hand went to his crotch and her lips pressed to his across his gag.

As one, Haymitch, Katniss, and Olathe stood up; they couldn't wait for Zelic any longer. Stringing an arrow into her bow, Katniss prepared to let it fly, whereas Haymitch's only plan was to run in and hope to drag Ramie off of Caesar—when the deceivingly rusted vehicle roared to life and sped toward Caesar and Ramie.

Zelic had to be mad, hoping to drive Ramie off as he gunned the vehicle toward her, but even if she did have time to throw herself aside, Caesar didn't. Seeing her demise speeding toward her in the narrow room at over fifty miles an hour, Ramie threw herself flat and Caesar had perhaps four seconds to process what was happening as his lungs filled with air again and he took in the sight of Zelic about to collide with him. Tightening his arms so that the corded muscle stood out like a beacon in the harsh lighting, Caesar lifted his legs level with his bound wrists, flattening himself parallel to the ceiling as Zelic's vehicle shot underneath him, barely grazing his heels.

He had no sooner come back down to the ground that Ramie was fastening her garrote around his neck again, this time preparing for the kill. She leaned back to tug on her weapon and open Caesar's throat in addition to possibly beheading him, but then a gas grenade hit her in the side of the head and she released, cursing as the projectile blew apart at her feet. Purple smoke began to blossom beneath her and she spun wildly in a circle, searching for her attacker.

Already running to put some distance between Ramie and Caesar, Haymitch saw the pale, skeletal face of Kilo emerge briefly from the smoke just so that Ramie could spot him before he disappeared again. If Haymitch had not already secured the alliance with Kilo, he knew that he would be properly spooked and even a bit terrified of this man who could operate unseen. Ramie demanded that Kilo step out and fight her, seemingly oblivious to Haymitch and the others who had formed a protective circle around Caesar as the smoke obscured them all from one another.

Keeping his sword at eye level, Haymitch waited for the assault, for the sound of the Careers returning to assist Ramie, but a part of him knew that no one was coming back for her, because they found her too despicable in her taste for assault. But Haymitch didn't think they had room to be judging if they didn't make a move to stop her from doing the thing that disgusted them so much.

The smoke began to clear and it was then that Haymitch noticed that Ramie's shouts had stopped, and as the room came back into focus, he heard a cannon. Ramie lay at Kilo's feet, a small drop of blood in her neck as if she had been pricked. In Kilo's hand was an empty syringe.

"Venom?" asked Katniss.

"Morphling," said Kilo. "One vial in the whole Cornucopia and I double checked, so I know. Snow knew Demi was never going to make it out of the bloodbath, but he provided this for me, so that I could have a relapse and get myself offed. Only, it was a dosage meant for several days, not all at once. I overdosed her." He kicked at Ramie's corpse with no remorse.

Admiration. That was what Haymitch felt for this man who had every right to revert back to his old ways and get his morphling fix after seeing his friend get her head crushed in, but chose to use it as a weapon instead, effectively removing temptation from his path.

The sound of padded footsteps running behind them announced Zelic returning and Amara shoved him. "What took you so damn long?"

"It was more complicated than I thought. After my last Games, the Gamemakers probably didn't want it to be too easy for me to hotwire anything. And by the time I got it running, everyone else but Ramie had cleared out. I didn't know what else to do, so—"

"So you thought driving straight for her and Caesar was the best way to save him?" asked Haymitch, and he turned around to see Caesar watching the floor, uninterested in their conversation. Haymitch reached his sword arm up and cut the ropes binding Caesar to the pipe above. Caesar fell to his knees, bringing his chafed wrists to his stomach and holding in that position.

Suddenly aware of how invasive they all were, staring at a half-naked man moments after being assaulted, Haymitch did a very transparent job of distracting the others so that Caesar could replace his wetsuit.

"We need to be moving on. If the Careers thought that was Caesar's cannon, they'll be waiting where they are for a few minutes and when they realize Ramie isn't coming back, they'll know we were here. Amara, take lead with me, Caesar and Kilo in the middle, Zelic and Katniss at the back. Stay in close, and if anyone activates a trip switch, start running."

Haymitch took the knife from Ramie's corpse and pushed it into Caesar's hands now that Caesar had zipped up his wetsuit. All traces of his mortification were gone, replaced by the quick facial reflexes of someone who had been in this business for too long. He wasn't smiling, but looked attentive.

"Hey!"

The furthest door had opened and the Career pack had returned, led by Enobaria who saw Haymitch beside Caesar, then Ramie's dead body. If she was relieved, she didn't show it, but Haymitch was angry with her for not letting her promise to uphold their agreement extend to Caesar.

Gloss stepped out from behind her and chucked one of his throwing knives. It was obvious who Clove had learned her deadly skill from, but if she was lethal, Gloss was double that, and he would not miss his mark, which was Haymitch. Only Caesar tripped Haymitch and as he hit the floor, Haymitch heard the sound of metal meeting flesh. The blade had gone completely through Caesar's bicep and as Caesar clutched at his arm, the rest of Haymitch's allies formed a wall in front of him. The Careers would have charged at that moment if Finnick, August, and Enid had not appeared from yet another door and given chase.

The Careers were gone as quickly as they had reappeared, but as Haymitch's alliance regrouped, the more experienced fighters continued to watch the door as they converged to help Caesar who was still on his feet, his good hand grasped around the knife handle with the intention to pull it out.

"No, wait—" began Finnick, but with a grimace, Caesar yanked hard and the blade came free, spurting blood from both the entrance and exit wounds as he did so.

" _Fuck!_ " Caesar hissed, dropping the knife and clapping his hand over the narrow slices to apply pressure.

"Let me see it," said Enid, coming closer with one of the medical kits from Olathe's pack. She pulled out a cloth, ripped it into long pieces, and then tied two tightly around Caesar's wound. "That's all I feel comfortable doing until we can reach a place we know is safe for a while."

"When did you learn emergency first-aid?" inquired Zelic in amazement.

"I didn't, but I've seen it done on enough Game replays that in theory, I should be able to replicate it, right?" When no one answered her, she gave a defensive shrug. "Well, I don't see any of you stepping up to help him, so—"

"It's fine," said Caesar. "It'll hold."

"Is it the eight of you, or do you have anyone else in your group?" asked Finnick, double counting heads.

"We're it," said Haymitch. "Kilo came out of nowhere. And if it's just you, August, and Enid, that leaves two more of our allies unaccounted for—"

"Oh, you wish they'd killed me, honey," calling Johanna, emerging with a limp from her bad leg from the door Finnick and the others had come through. She had her self-satisfied smirk, but the puffiness around her eyes suggested that she had recently been crying—Haymitch wondered if it was on Blight's behalf. Behind her came Beetee, holding a spear and looking quite unsure how to wield it other than point it in the direction ahead of him.

"That's all of us, then. Farrow is off doing his own thing, just like Thresh did," said Katniss. "And that leaves four Careers against us. It's our battle to win."

"Don't get cocky," Stele warned. "Our alliance is large and strong, but a bigger group is easier to target, and the Gamemakers won't make it as easy as finishing off the Careers and leaving our alliance as the last ones standing."

 _And even then, more may yet die,_ thought Haymitch. Plutarch said at least ten, and there were six dead already, but only Cashmere and Ramie were enough of a threat to be exciting kills. Hardly anyone would have expected those already dead to make it very far. The audience would be wanting more blood, and more competition, which meant the Gamemakers would be intent on driving the alliance apart to make for more interesting Games.

"So our next decision is to either go after the Careers, or move away from them," said August. "It's four of them against all of us, but they know how big our alliance is now, so they'll know who to target first and try to separate the weaker ones from the main group. And by weak, I mean those incapable of fighting in their current state, which is at least five of us, six if you include Kilo who can't match blades with any of the Careers and expect to live."

Kilo didn't seem to take it personally that he was being singled out for his incompetence in physical combat. He knew the best way to operate, given his stature, so he knew the truth in August's statement.

"I say we just move," suggested Beetee. "It's better than staying here in case the Careers come back."

"I have Mags," said Finnick, throwing his mentor across his back as if she weighed nothing.

"We'll take Johanna," said Zelic, motioning at himself and his wife.

"You can try. I'm not being carried around just because of a lame leg," Johanna protested.

"Yes, you are," said Caesar. "You'll be able to fight stationary if you lean your weight on your good leg, but putting pressure on your bad one when you don't have to will make it easy for you to go down quick if it comes to a fight. You can't walk fast on your own or run, which means you're either going to be carried or dragged and if those don't sound appealing to you, we can leave you here to fend for yourself, but the decision is up to you if you want your pride to be the cause of your death because you couldn't admit weakness when all of Panem can see it."

The backhanded compliment silenced any further argument Johanna had and she let Zelic and Amara lift her between them, lips pursed in soundless anger.

"Are you going to be alright to walk?" asked Haymitch as Caesar took Mags's spear from him.

"It's just an arm. You don't need an arm to walk."

Finnick took point and they set off, leaving Ramie's body splayed out in the open to be retrieved however possible since hovercrafts weren't an option in a city with water for a ceiling. It was evident after four hours of clueless wandering that Caesar, however, was not equipped to keep going as he had so boldly claimed. Starting out third from the front, he had fallen to the back with Beetee by the end of the fourth hour and Haymitch could see that his temporary bindings for his wound had completely soaked through so that blood was dribbling down his arm, trickling out from under the sleeve of his wetsuit. His movements had become sluggish and he had trouble focusing ahead as his hand ran along the corridor walls for support. He kept his eyes on the back of Enid who was walking ahead of him, but as his feet began to crisscross, Haymitch called the group to a halt.

"He can't keep walking like this. He's lost too much blood," he told the others as they turned around to see the cause of the holdup.

"Leave me a good weapon," said Caesar, lowering himself to the ground.

"We can carry you," said August, though it appeared to be against his better judgment.

Shaking his head, Caesar motioned toward the next door. "No, you already have too many people slowing you down."

In the process of handing Caesar one of his swords, Stele was intercepted by Mags who knelt beside Caesar and pressed her old, gnarled fingers against the entry wound. She pulled out a strand of her own hair, a piece of thread from the pack on Stele's back, and a needle she had fashioned out of a scrap of sterilized metal. Piecing them all together with the skilled hands of someone who had done their craft for decades, she made Caesar lie back against the wall and then pulled his arm out of his wetsuit. Licking the tip of the thread she had made, she knotted it through her makeshift needle and then set to work on stitching up the wound.

Caesar's midsection arched forward in protest and both Haymitch and Finnick had to hold him down as Mags worked on him while the others stood guard, watching the rear door. After several moments in which Caesar made only muffled sounds of pain, Mags cut the remaining thread with the knife Olathe offered her, placed a white bandage over both sides of the wound, and dusted off her hands to show that she had finished. Haymitch pulled Caesar to his feet so that the latter could test out his movement in relation to its effect on his wound.

Though there was some flinching, Mags's handiwork seemed to have temporarily fixed the problem. He was still pale and had lost a significant amount of blood, but the stitches would hold, allowing them to move on to a safe compartment instead of sitting down in the hallway for anyone or anything to find them. Olathe pressed a cranberry juice pouch and can of mixed vegetables on Caesar to eat as they moved to rekindle some of his lost blood sugar.

"Thank you," said Caesar and for the first time, he looked embarrassed to speak as he expressed his gratitude to both women.

Smiling warmly up at him, Mags patted Caesar's cheek.

"That's a welcoming initiation," said Finnick, trying to sound light-hearted. "You're in the club now."

It was meant as a joke, but Haymitch knew he couldn't be the only to pick up on the underlying meaning of Finnick's words that Caesar was, in fact, a part of their alliance now and not a product of the Capitol that had discarded him. The Careers had debated about whether or not Caesar could understand their plight since he had never survived an arena before but for the most part, Haymitch's allies accepted him because to most of them, he had been a good friend in their lives post-arena. It meant more to Caesar to be a part of their team than he would let on because if the Capitol didn't want him, then who did? Where did he belong?

/ /

To his credit, Caesar seemed to know how much trouble he had caused, albeit unintentionally, and paced behind them for as long as he could without complaining so that when Haymitch and Finnick collectively decided that it was time to stop on a ledge that surveyed a large, warehouse-like room below, it didn't seem unreasonable. Exhausted and running low on water, they spread out along the ledge, keeping their backs to the wall as they slumped down to take a few smalls sips from their canteens and then try to get some rest. Closest to the door so that he was the first target someone would pick out if they ran through, Caesar sank down and hung his head in what looked like a dead faint.

"Not yet," said Haymitch, kicking at Caesar's shoe. "Let me have another look at it. You're leaking."

Caesar glanced down at the red seeping through his bandage. "Damn."

Haymitch helped him remove his wetsuit just enough to throw the stab wound into greater relief. Though the blood-stained bandages stood out like a beacon on his skin, Haymitch was distracted by the multiple swollen and bruised areas along his body. Caesar winced with every movement and Haymitch had to wonder how he could have missed the obvious pain Caesar was in.

"How painful are they? We might have some painkillers in here…" said Haymitch, rifling through their packs for a labeled bottle.

"You're looking right at them; you know how painful they are," said Caesar, peeling off the bloody bandages so Haymitch could replace them. "It's just adrenaline that's been helping me stay on my feet. I was beaten enough to be hurting, but not enough to have anything broken."

"It was bad enough for Snow to toss you in here without any prior training, but to brutalize you like this—"

"Snow didn't put me in, Haymitch. I asked to be in the Games," said Caesar as if he thought it was the most obvious thing.

Haymitch dropped the fresh cleanser he had brought out. "You…what?"

What on earth had possessed Caesar to ask for such a punishment for what he had done to anger Snow? Caesar had known that he would be facing impossible odds with no guarantee that the victors would take him onto their team and yet he chose the Games over…what?

"Oh, he planned to have me executed, absolutely," said Caesar at the look on Haymitch's face. "I knew what I was doing and what I was about to face when I said my goodbyes to you on the stage, but I couldn't keep up the façade any longer. With these Games and the fact that former victors were being thrown in, I knew that Snow was deliberately attempting to kill people that I had grown rather fond of. I knew the system was rigged to suit Snow's whim, and I had had enough. You and every other victor had earned your immunity. Those rules were set in stone, so to hear Snow announce the _new_ rule on the card for the Quarter Quell, I knew who he was directing his anger toward. And if Katniss was going to be targeted, you would stand beside her, as would many others who had gotten glimpses of the man I've always had to conceal in plain sight."

Haymitch applied the fresh bandages, focused on his work but hanging on to Caesar's every word as he got this peek into the true mind of the Master of Ceremonies.

"It was difficult enough watching the reapings, knowing that I would have to announce them as if I agreed with what was happening. I knew it was a delicate situation because you could hear Panem give a collective gasp of horror when everyone realized that the victors were being put up for slaughter again. Victors who had formed relationships with Capitol citizens—earned their love and admiration, and become beacons of harmony between the Capitol and districts—were about to die because of these Games, and I wasn't the only one who was outraged by it. I was, however, the only one who had access to all of Panem, to influence as many people I could in my open demonstration of disgust for these Games. And since I was the only one with such a privilege, I was the only one with the courage and therefore the responsibility to do something about it."

He showed Haymitch a vicious knock to the back of his head by pulling at his hair so that Haymitch could see the inflamed skin beneath.

"So after the interviews, when the lights went out and I found my way back to my dressing room, I took off my wig for what I knew would be the last time, and waited for them to come for me. It only took a minute and they were on me, beating me, blindfolding me, and dragging me to Snow's mansion where he told me his plans for me—a public execution following the Games after concocting some bullshit reason that I deserved it. I believe he planned to inform viewers that I had helped the victor cheat their way to success by secretly providing them with information ahead of time and influencing their sponsors. And cheating in the Games is blasphemous, so my death would have been justified. But I asked to be placed in the Games in substitution for his method and he agreed, much to my surprise. I don't know why I asked, but I think a part of me preferred to be killed by acquaintances, even friends, rather than faceless Peacekeepers. I wanted to be given a chance to fight for my last breath on my feet instead of waiting for it on my knees. So they did a bit of work on me to remove all traces of Capitol de-aging so that I would look my age, and then some, but I'm glad they did. It helped so that I wouldn't have to continue playing the character I'd always been."

He pulled his wetsuit back on and showed Haymitch his hands that had been de-manicured. "Reversing plastic surgery is more painful than initially getting it. They took the tan from my skin, increased the rate of hair growth so that I wouldn't have that waxed complexion, removed my false teeth, wiped me of every bit of my personality that had taken a needle, brush, or artificial method to apply until I resembled the boy that Ramie told the Careers about—though much older, of course. I haven't been allowed to look like this since before we first met during the Second Quarter Quell. But I would live through the pain every day time and again if it meant I never had to put on another wig and could walk the streets as I am now."

"Like a normal person," said Haymitch.

"Like I belonged to the districts, yes. Like anyone with a shred of common sense would, and could. And that sort of thinking made me different from every individual in the Capitol because I could sympathize and empathize with the districts. I knew discomfort; I knew suffering and loss because those circumstances had led to my adoptive parents taking me in. They were good to me, but they attempted to make me see how the Games were a celebration and not a massacre, and in that way, they abused me. I knew that I wasn't safe in the Capitol if I didn't adhere to the social norm of enjoying seeing children murder each other, so I learned quite early on how to lie and up until last night, I was the best liar Panem had ever seen."

"So they decided to execute you for being halfway decent?"

"Calling me halfway decent is exaggerating my goodness. I'm not blameless in this situation. I played this character for almost three decades and it's taken me that long, taken the deaths of nearly seven hundred children for me to finally say something. And I did kill a victor which isn't something I'm proud of. It's not an easy thing to do, nor is it rewarding, and if anything, it makes surviving harder because you don't get used to it. That guilt is yours to live with because you murdered someone who never had any reason to kill you other than the reason the Capitol gave you. It's only been a day and I feel like it's been a lifetime, living with the guilt. I can honestly say that I'm starting to understand why some of you chose self-denial as a way to cope."

This was something Haymitch hadn't considered. If he were in Peeta's place, watching the Games, and by some God-given miracle, Caesar had won, how would the Master of Ceremonies fare in the weeks, months, years to come after his victory? Would he become a skeletal replica of his former glorified self and turn to morphling like Kilo and Demi, or would he drink away his fears like Haymitch had? Or would he conceal his pain, smile for the camera, and be dead inside like the rest of them?

Somehow, Haymitch felt that it was favorable to see Caesar's face follow the tribute anthem rather than see him waste away in a life of waking nightmares.


	9. Chapter 9: The Last of District 7

The hour of sleep he got before they were all roused to start walking again was pure bliss, even if his subconscious mind kept telling him that when he woke, it might be for the last time. He needed those sixty minutes of visual silence to collect his thoughts and approach this new day with a different attitude than the one he had gone to sleep with. When Zelic shook his ankle to wake him, he sat up and stretched his lower body, reaching for the soles of his shoes. The others began to stir around him, though quietly as they gathered their weapons and packs.

A few inches away, Caesar was slumped against the wall with his arms folded, knife in hand and across his lower thighs was Johanna's purple-streaked hair. She had apparently fallen asleep using her pack as a pillow, but somehow had managed to maneuver herself sideways to use the soft flesh of Caesar's upper legs as her support instead. She awoke before Caesar, however, and when she realized that she had invaded his personal space without either of them knowing it, she slapped his good arm and snapped, "Get off."

"Okay," said Caesar, blinking rapidly to adjust his eyes, but looking thoroughly confused all the same as he rubbed feeling back into his legs. "Wait…what?"

"I said get up."

Seeing that he was not to speak of what had just occurred under threat of death, Caesar collected his supplies while Haymitch helped Johanna to stand.

"We're short on supplies, so what do we do now?" asked Enid. "Go back to the Cornucopia, or look somewhere else for food and water?"

"I doubt that there's any supplies in this entire city besides what we saw in front of the Cornucopia," mused Beetee. "The Gamemakers want us to have to return there as often as possible because it's the only place with supplies and shelter. Anyone sitting on top of the Cornucopia has an excellent vantage point of all the pathways that lead up to it, and with the ocean at its back, no one can sneak up on you. This city is designed to confuse us, separate us, and kill us off if too much time goes by and we don't stumble across the Careers, but the Gamemakers didn't count on our alliance being this big, so now they'll definitely want to drive us back to the Cornucopia or activate more of those death compartments. So I would say that our best bet is to get back to the main area where we all swam in and if the Careers are already staked out there, we drive them off, given that we have the numbers. Then we hold it until the Careers are gone."

Everyone else was thinking, _And then what?_ But no one said it aloud. No one wanted to think about how they would all start to murder each other once they defeated the Careers and survived the city of trap rooms and that was _if_ they made it that far. Ten people, maybe more, and they were already halfway to that goal, but Haymitch thought, not for the first time, that perhaps Plutarch had been playing him for a fool and never intended for anyone but Katniss to survive. It would certainly work to his advantage if Haymitch focused entirely on protecting her and ended up dying in the process and if Haymitch was stupid enough to believe him…

He had to trust Plutarch. It was the only choice he had.

He was so focused on sorting things out in his head that he didn't notice that everyone was now looking at him expectantly and it dawned on him that by forming this alliance and giving everyone a common goal, he had unintentionally made himself the leader of their band, and so he had final decision, even though the majority of them had already agreed to Beetee's reasoning.

"If the majority thinks that the Cornucopia is the best place to make a stand, then we'll go there. The only problem is, we have no idea which direction to go."

"I say we go back the way we came," said Stele. "We marked our way up to this point, so if we find those bloody thumbprints, we should be able to navigate back to the main cavern."

"I say we just start moving and if Plan A doesn't work, the Gamemakers will get us to the Cornucopia eventually for a second bloodbath," said Johanna, stringing her arm across Katniss's shoulders to tell her that it was Katniss's turn to help her walk.

"Alright, we move out. Back the way we came," said Haymitch, and along with Kilo, he led the way. He had Beetee follow along right behind them since the older man's wit and wisdom might serve them well in determining which direction to go if their thumbprint trail had been wiped away. After a few missed tries, they came upon one of the prints and the small sense of accomplishment Haymitch felt to accompany the discovery was the boost he needed.

He was always the first through every door and the last so that his decisions wouldn't be the death of anyone. He watched each of his allies file through the doorway, their faces set, their eyes focused on nothing other than the head of the person in front of them as their minds wandered. August took over carrying Mags from Stele a few hours into their walk and Caesar switched with Katniss even when Olathe volunteered. Though Johanna didn't look too happy with this arrangement, Caesar wouldn't take no for an answer and let her use as much or as little strength as she wanted so that she was more or less tricked into thinking that she had control over her body.

At one point they came to a dead end, blocked off by the wall that had sprung up between themselves and Caesar and since there was no getting through it, they had to backtrack, take another door, and take the next right door they came upon to get back on track. Unfortunately, this meant that they passed into unfamiliar territory in the form of a room the size of the Cornucopia cavern but with one narrow walkway positioned through the middle of it. It was only wide enough for one person to walk by at a time which meant that they would have to go single file and rely on their balance or risk toppling into the pit below which was flashing with bright blue and white electric lights as volts shot out at random intervals. If anyone fell in, the fall wouldn't kill them; the electricity coursing through their body would.

"Take it slow," said Haymitch. "Crawl if you need to and grip the edges, but whatever you do, don't rush yourself."

He prepared to go first when Enid stepped up, stuck her hands out to either side of her, and began moving across the room at the exact speed rate Haymitch had just told them all not to attempt. Enid placed one foot in front of the other as if she were performing a precise dance and within fifteen seconds of absolute nail-biting uncertainty, she made it to the other side where she put a hand on the wall beside the door. August breathed a sigh of relief and then called out a series of curse-filled reprimands to his niece. He was next to go, taking to the walkway at less than half the speed Enid had. As he was the biggest of them all, everyone watched him go to see if the walkway would hold his weight and when it did, the rest of them filed onto the catwalk. Haymitch went third, followed by Beetee, District 5 and 9, and then Kilo. Mags wouldn't allow anyone to carry her, so Katniss went ahead of her, picking out each step for Mags to replicate while Finnick walked behind his mentor with a hand on her back to steady her.

Last to go were Caesar and Johanna due to Johanna's bad leg, thus exhibiting the need to crawl. She lay down on her stomach and pulled herself forward, using her good leg to push as Caesar followed on his knees behind her, ready to catch her if she should fall. They were halfway across and finally falling into their groove so that their pace quickened when the electric blue hue of the room suddenly merged into red and the warning alarm filled the air.

Haymitch turned to face the door, but it remained open, which told him that the threat was not to get caught inside the room, only to get caught on the walkway, for it had begun to break apart, separating into small platforms only big enough to fit one person and shaking with tremendous force as they split off from one another. Johanna's belly had been positioned right over the split of two platforms and as she scrabbled to find purchase on the section her upper body was on, her lower body dropped and brought the rest of her with it.

Caesar leaped from his platform to the one Johanna was about to fall from and caught her forearm, flattening himself on his support to grip the entire thing with every bit of his body as he could to avoid going over. Both of his hands held onto Johanna's arm, but her wetsuit provided no grip and Haymitch knew he wouldn't be able to maintain his grip for more than a minute. With how the platforms were moving about the room in no set pattern, the movement was making it all the more difficult to not only cling to the platform, but also keep holding onto a body swinging around uncontrollably beneath it.

Finnick drew the trident from his back and took a running leap, landing on the nearest moving platform and driving the trident spikes into the soft metal of it to help steady his landing. He waited until his platform was right up beside the next one before jumping again, slowly making his way forward.

"Hold her, Caesar!" Haymitch shouted over the alarm, a plea which was echoed by the rest of the alliance.

He couldn't, that much was evident. Caesar had muscle, but he wasn't strong, and he probably only had twenty pounds on Johanna, which meant that he was basically holding up his entire body weight. Both his and her fingernails were cutting into the other's skin as they gripped each other. Their platform began to pick up speed as it rotated around the room and Johanna slipped half an inch in Caesar's grip as she tried to loop her good leg around the pole holding up the platform.

Then, the electric volts below began to rise, creeping upward like an ominous approach of high tide. They went off every time one of the platform supports passed in front of their sensors, and if they got much higher, they would pick up Johanna's dangling body and electrify it.

"Give me your other hand," called Caesar.

"Let go, or we're both going over," said Johanna, and even though her face was fixed, she was weeping. As hardened as she was by circumstance, as much as she hated life and everyone in it, she was still afraid to die.

"Don't let go of her!" called Finnick from the platform that was next to pass by Caesar's and Johanna's. "I'm coming!"

"I can't hold her!" Caesar shouted back, and Johanna knew it, for she reached her other arm up and punched Caesar in his knife wound. His body worked against him, jerking back as it reacted to the pain, and Johanna fell…only to be caught a second later by Finnick who had squeezed himself onto the platform with Caesar, clinging to the metal with the balls of his feet only. The rest of him was supported by kneeling on Caesar's back.

"Not today, honey," he said, but even as he did, the electric sensors rose higher, level with Johanna's dangling body. Finnick leaned back to try and pull her up, but she removed a knife from her boot and sliced him across the back of his forearm so that he had no choice but to drop her. She fell right into the path of the sensors and her body was suspended in midair as thousands of volts went through her, charring her skin and melting away all distinguishable features.

Several of Haymitch's allies were screaming, puking, turning away from the sight, and out on the platform, it was all Caesar could do to keep his arms around Finnick as they both watched helplessly from above the remains of Johanna Mason.

The platforms came together to form the narrow walkway once again, but Finnick was still watching Johanna's crisped form far below as it had finally fallen, and Caesar called for help so that he could release Finnick, examine the damage Johanna had done to his wound, and promptly throw up over the ledge. He grasped the edge, his knuckles white as he pitched his vomit down into the volts below. Fearing that he might collapse and fall over himself, Haymitch took a handful of Caesar's wetsuit, but as he did so, the platform shuddered and the alarm blared again.

August and Zelic had Finnick up and running on the precarious walkway to join the others at the door that was beginning to actually shut this time. Haymitch wasted no time in contemplating why the room would reactivate so soon when everything he had been led to believe so far suggested that it would be hours until the simulation began again. He started running, dragging Caesar along whether the latter was ready to run or not. They made it through, but the warning was still sounding and as Haymitch considered what could cause the alarm to keep going, he saw his own hair beginning to stick up, unsupported.

"There's static in the air. The Gamemakers are letting the simulation spill over into the hallway," said Beetee. "Run, run now!"

Only the image of the blackened body twitching every which way under the influence of thousands of electric volts made the energy to run spill into Haymitch's legs. He yelled at the others to stay together as he brought up the rear, ready to pick anyone up if they should fall. Rounding the corners at breakneck speed and slipping through doorway after doorway, Haymitch expected another wall to pop up and block him off from the rest of the group as they kept a few hundred steps ahead of the electric current chasing after them. At the sound of one final door slamming behind them, the adrenaline pounding in Haymitch's head drowned out and he heard the absence of an alarm.

"Stop…" he panted. "Everyone…stop…now…"

As if they had been waiting for him to say the words, the entire alliance collapsed on the floor, heaving, gasping, and crying for breath. Closest to him was Zelic who had been carrying Mags and he had just enough sense to land on his knees and shake her off before falling over onto his back. Enid was the first to resume crying for Johanna and August crawled to her, shielding her from their eyes as his arms wrapped around her face. Sprawled on his back on the other side of Zelic, Caesar had vomit staining his face and neck from where he had made himself sick, either from running or from remembering what Johanna's body looked like at last sight.

Katniss moved her hand away as Caesar rolled onto his side and retched again, puking up a pile of something green where Katniss's fingers had been seconds before. "Oh, God…" he moaned, holding his stomach. With his face scrunched up in pain, he pulled himself away from the others in case he vomited anything else and as he passed by Haymitch, he averted his eyes with guilt, guilt for something he couldn't have prevented.

"You couldn't have helped her. She'd made up her mind to go and Snow himself couldn't have stopped her," said Haymitch, and then raised his voice so that Finnick could also hear him. "She was stubborn and no one could prevent her from doing what she'd set her mind to, not even her only friend."

Finnick and Johanna's situation had been the only ones well-known to Haymitch. The two of them had been prostituted out to the public of Panem and given that they were relatively close in age as well as having won their Games within the span of a few years of each other, they took comfort in one another. Somehow Finnick had been the only one to get through to Johanna when she shunned every other victor who tried to connect with her and in accepting him, she had secured at least one friend for herself. He was the only person alive who wore that badge of honor, but Johanna would not stay alive, even for him.

"She had no right to do that," said Finnick, hugging himself and refusing to be consoled by Mags who was patting his arm. "I could have pulled her up in time."

"If you had, the Gamemakers would have pitched you both off of the platform and Caesar along with you because the audience was demanding blood. Johanna knew that, and that's why she wouldn't let either one of you hold onto her."

"I shouldn't have insisted on carrying her," said Caesar, wiping the excess vomit from his chin. "I wasn't fast enough to get her across the walkway and when I saw it breaking apart, I made sure I had a firm hold on her instead of trying to run for it. I tried to hold her…but…"

"She knew that, and she respected it, but she didn't want to take you down with her," said Beetee. "She chose Finnick and you over herself, which should tell you that she thought you were a greater asset to the cause than she was. She was dedicated to us more than I could have ever imagined, and at the end, she didn't let anyone choose her method of death but herself. She didn't play by the Gamemakers' rules."

In the silence that followed this eulogy of sorts, Haymitch became aware of a stuttering wheezing coming from the middle of the group and sat up fully to see Kilo twitching violently on the floor, his hands clenched over his stomach as he cried out in obvious, but invisible pain.

"What in the hell-?" began Stele before Kilo's legs shot out and kicked him involuntarily.

"What's wrong with him?" asked Katniss.

"Withdrawal symptoms," observed Haymitch, for he knew this dance of panic all too well, having experienced it multiple times when Ripper's supply of liquor ran dry.

"I thought he was sober from morphling?" said Enid, finally emerging from her uncle's embrace to see Kilo's shaking fit.

"He is, but he also used it to fuel him during stressful times like this, so for him to have to fight through it now without assistance, he's struggling. He just ran long and hard and his body isn't used to that sort of strain."

"I've got him," said Caesar, kneeling beside Kilo. He slipped his arms underneath the latter's armpits, and then crossed Kilo's wrists across his chest to keep him from striking out and hurting himself. "It'll pass; just give him a few minutes."

How Caesar knew exactly which position to assume in order to contain Kilo was anyone's guess, but if Haymitch _had_ to guess, he would say that Caesar had seen more than a few children and adults suffer from these sorts of symptoms in that orphanage he had supposedly been in, if Ramie was to be believed. Kilo let out a terrible shriek and gave one final jerk before he went limp and Caesar let go of him, placing his pack underneath Kilo's head.

Running a hand under his nose and sounding congested, Caesar volunteered to take first watch so that they all could get in an hour or two on Kilo's behalf since it wasn't wise or safe to be moving him anywhere. Haymitch could have laughed at the suggestion to try and sleep after the brutal way in which one of their party had been taken from them, but surprisingly, most of the others were able to nod off from an unhealthy combination of lack of food, water, and sleep. As for Haymitch, he knew he would find no sleep until he quite literally collapsed from exhaustion. He watched Caesar who was keeping an observational eye on Kilo's still form.

"Do I want to know where you learned to deal with that?" he asked quietly.

"The orphanage," answered Caesar without looking at him. "I know you heard Ramie talking about that. She did her research, I'll give her that. District 7 runs off of a partner system in that you never venture anywhere without someone to guard your back because we didn't have fences or walls around our district to keep out the wild animals. The wilderness itself was our wall and more than once I had to wonder if the Capitol bred mutts that could almost pass for wildlife and dropped them in our area specifically to keep the terror of the woods strong enough to discourage anyone from deserting. The partner system meant that you had an eye on the other person at all times when you passed into the tree line. One person would start the process of felling trees and the other would stand guard back-to-back with them. It worked; it's a good system to the point where if someone in Seven dies, it's usually disease. So you can understand how shocking it was for us to suddenly lose thirty-some people when that train derailed and made me an orphan."

Haymitch tried to envision a young Ceasar, wide, brown eyes being told that he had to go and live with a host of other children he didn't know, being taken from his home and tossed into an environment that was hostile to someone so young. He couldn't get a mental picture of a young version of this grey-haired man before him.

"I saw it happen. I couldn't tell immediately that it had been my parents, but I saw the workers get flattened and the few Peacekeepers go under as they tried to clear the workers out of the way. All of those people who died hadn't had anyone to watch their backs because it was inside the town, away from what we thought was the danger. So when they taught us the partner system in the orphanage, I took it far more seriously than the other children did because mine were the only parents to die in that accident. The other children's parents had died of illness. For children, the partner system meant making sure the other person did their chores correctly and safely, making sure no bullies were harassing them, making sure they'd eaten for the day. In my case, it meant knowing how to deal with seizures whenever my partner erupted into a fit, which she did a lot. At night, six of us shared a room and almost all of the adults were sleeping, so we had to know how to handle things ourselves. My partner normally had seizures just after lights out, so I would jump out of bed, run to her, and turn her on her side, making sure all the other children stayed back. It's one of those things you can't forget how to do."

Caesar showed Haymitch a set of tiny scars along his left wrist. "One of the first times I did it, I thought she was choking and tried to clear her airways, so she bit me. I joked that if it kept her from biting her tongue in half, it was worth it."

"What happened to her once you were adopted?"

"She stayed at the orphanage for another six years and then hung herself," said Caesar, and all at once, a terrible look claimed his face. It was anger, it was resentment, it was shame.

"That's not your fault," Haymitch began.

"I had the money by then to send for her. I had the wit to convince my adoptive parents to take her in, but I didn't. No one ever tended to her like I did so that when I was adopted and she wasn't, she had to face her seizures alone. She got to the point where she just couldn't take it anymore. The partner system ended up failing her, as it failed Johanna today because I couldn't have her back."

"You can't blame yourself for that."

"I shouldn't, but I do. I blame myself for everyone who dies in these Games because I never said anything against it until it was too late. So when I seem rattled when Stele hurtles accusations at me about being a brainwashed moron who gets off at the sight of blood, I tend to have a strong negative reaction."

"You can't blame him for being suspicious. He has to be, for Olathe."

"I understand, but he never even gave me the benefit of the doubt before he started judging me. Of course, I could completely be bullshitting you, but something tells me that of everyone here, you would have caught on if I had been. I'm not looking to win, Haymitch. I came in planning to die, but I want to at least have a hand in helping the victor survive before I do. I don't know who that is yet, but I can only hope it's one of the people in this hallway."

A soft, comforting _beep_ ing from above announced the arrival of the first sponsor parachute Haymitch had seen in this arena. Given that they had a ceiling above them, the parachute didn't have long to travel before it hit the ground, but its arrival had the same effect as ever. No one awoke as the pod landed between Caesar's legs and he blinked at it uncomprehendingly. After a few moments of watching his reaction, Haymitch nudged him.

"What are you waiting for?"

"This was…unexpected. Are you sure it's not for someone else?"

"It landed right in front of you, and since we're in a narrow hallway, the Gamemakers can be precise on where to drop the parachute. If it was meant for someone else, it would have landed on their heads, but it didn't. It's yours."

Some small, childish part of Haymitch felt resentment that Caesar Flickerman had earned a sponsor before anyone else, especially Katniss. But then again, he shouldn't be surprised since the audience would have a soft spot for their beloved host, even if it was public news by now that he had betrayed Panem—according to the president, anyway.

Caesar took the metal pod in trembling hands and opened it, revealing an envelope. Bewildered, Caesar tore open the envelope and out came a fancy piece of stationary and a pill. Caesar's eyes scanned across the lines of the stationary and then he put his face in his hand in an attempt to compose himself.

"What is it?" Haymitch prodded.

Sniffing, Caesar opened the letter again and cleared his throat. His eyes were the tiniest bit bloodshot to warn of an impending swell of emotion. "From the People of Districts 6: Thank you for supporting our tribute. From the People of District 7: Thank you for trying. We…" Caesar swallowed hard, tried again, and then took another few seconds to get a hold of himself. "We still claim you. From A Friend in the Capitol: Make this last."

An enormous wave of gratitude swept over Haymitch on behalf of the people who had scrounged up money to send Caesar a pod that had hardly anything in it but for words that were the only thing that could help him now as he sat inconsolable after Johanna's death. It was the best gift anyone could have given him in publicly confirming that Caesar did indeed come from District 7 and the people there remembered…and didn't resent him for how his life had turned out. Even though he had failed to save Johanna (and it dawned on Haymitch that to an extent, she had been his district partner), District 7 still took ownership of him.

"What does the pill do?" asked Haymitch as Caesar carefully folded the letter and tucked it into the waterproof zipper compartment of his wetsuit.

Before answering, Caesar took his water bottle from his pack, weighed the amount of water within in relation to how much he would need to down the pill, and then using his knife point, broke the pill meticulously down into four smaller pieces, all but one of which he also stored in his waterproof pouch. He stuck the quarter pill into the back of his throat and then tipped his head back to swallow without water.

"I have…episodes of a fashion," he said after gagging slightly. "Not from withdrawal like Kilo, but because I was born with a defect that causes me to more or less go into shock and have a violent fit that often made me have to be put in a strait jacket. It's brought on by stress, fear, or any surge of emotion. As Master of Ceremonies, I had to take these pills religiously because I couldn't afford to have an episode on live television. Being a master of deception doesn't mean that your body isn't still being affected by your emotions. The episodes were the one thing I was most frightened of coming into the arena, and after what just happened, I knew I was about to have one, so this gift couldn't have come at a more perfect time. The problem is, the pills are extremely expensive, so if I only got one, it's a message to me that I have to ration it."

"But someone knew about your—condition," said Haymitch. "As expensive as those pills may be, someone scrapped together enough money to get you at least one." His next move was to ask who Caesar thought his sponsor might be, but there was no time for a response as an alarm from deep within the city began to sound. Its effect was instantaneous in that the entire group sat up, ready to run, but Haymitch called a false alarm in that the lights above them were still normal, not red.

"But why can we hear it, then?" questioned Amara. "It's almost impossible to hear anything in this place, but all of a sudden we can hear an alarm that may be multiple levels above or below us?"

"I don't know, but it's made me too antsy to go back to sleep. We should start moving again, if everyone's good to go," said August with a suggestive nod at Kilo who had awoken with the others, but was not as alert and looked like he hadn't seen sunlight in years.

"If we take it slow, I can make it on my own," said Kilo. "If you don't want to wait for me—"

Katniss dragged him upright, relieved him of his pack, and forced him to start walking. Suggestions and musings about giving up were something she refused to listen to, and as her district partner and fellow sufferer, Haymitch could relate—barely. He had practically given up when he became consumed with alcohol, but Katniss and Peeta had brought him back. Ever since then, his drive to survive had returned and now he hated seeing anyone willing to lay down and die when they had the power to keep themselves breathing for one minute more at a time.

Subdued, but cautious of the echoing alarm, they reached the end of the hallway and the diagonal doors parted to reveal a hole in the wall at waist height and from this square hole, the alarm sounded clearer than ever.

"It's a duct system," explained Beetee. "Sound travels through the shafts and however many levels this city has, I can guarantee you that these ducts reach every level in multiple locations, so if there's an alarm going off anywhere, we'll hear it. Loudly."

"Well, everyone better be prepared to cover their ears and crawl, because this is the only way forward," said Haymitch.

Instantly he was met with argument and hesitation. The others feared that the Gamemakers wanted to lure them into the tight spaces and separate them or cook them all through by shooting flames into the fire-conductive ducts. In the end, though, Beetee was the one to assure them all that it would make for poor television to have any tribute die inside a ventilation system where the cameras were most likely going to have difficulty picking up anything.

Kilo offered to go in first since he was easily the smallest male competitor and was visibly determined to pull his weight after his episode. He crawled in, head first, and pulled himself over the smooth, slippery surface, gliding along until he came to the first intersection, and looked both ways.

"Right," called Haymitch, Beetee, and Stele after him, and without any trouble at all, he took the corner, disappearing for a few moments before they saw his feet reappear as he backed up to make his head visible to them.

"It looks clear ahead. We should end up back on the path the rest of you set yesterday if we stay straight from here and get out in about three hundred feet or so. The only problem is, there's no lights in here."

They all rummaged through their packs to find a flashlight of any source, but only came up with one small handheld light that shined out more or less the size of a thumbnail when activated. Agreeing that whoever was in front needed the light most, they handed it to Enid who followed Kilo in, and then began crawling in after her.

Dead set on being last this time, Haymitch watched his allies position themselves in the shafts, squirming to find a rhythm that would help them move easier. Once they got to the intersection, the next person entered behind them until Haymitch, Caesar, Katniss, and the Sylvans were the last ones in the hallway. Amara was beginning to go into a panic as she held a hushed and urgent conversation with her husband who was attempting to calm her. It didn't take a genius to figure out that she was claustrophobic.

"—and I can't even see what's in front of me."

"That's probably a good thing. It's not far, and I'll be right behind you."

"I can't do it. The stale air, and not being able to stretch out if I need to, or go back or forward because there'll be other people in the way. I'm not going in there or it'll be chaos."

"We don't have another option. I promise that I won't let go of you the whole time. Please, Amara."

"I can't."

"Yes, you can," said Caesar. "You came in here preparing to die for your husband; crawling through a hole for him is nothing in comparison. And I know this isn't a comfort to you, but even if you do dissolve into a state of hysterics, every single one of us in there with you are going to get you out alive. Nothing will hurt you in there."

His words reached her when her husband's couldn't and if Zelic was miffed about that fact, he didn't show it as Caesar followed Katniss in and then called back to have Amara stay right on his heels, instructing her to reach for his ankle and grasp it every time she was ready to move further. He reached the corner and moved all but his left foot out of sight, waiting for Amara.

Staring at the light bulb above Haymitch's head as if it was the last time she would ever see, Amara closed her eyes and began moving forward, sliding along the metallic surface until her hand came into contact with the sole of Caesar's shoe. She squeezed his bony ankle and then it disappeared. Zelic went after her, informing her that he was about to grab her own ankle.

Last to go, Haymitch kept his eyes on Zelic's backside, not at all concentrating on the fact that it was indeed a rear end that he was so intently watching. He watched it with determination until the light no longer reached them and he was plunged into darkness. He could hear the muffled bumpings of his team knocking elbows and knees against the walls as well as their stressful breathing. The word passed back whenever they reached another marker and Haymitch estimated that they had crawled over half of their predicted distance when the entire shaft system was lit with a never-ending line of white-blue lights that gave them all an ethereal glow.

Grateful at the opportunity to finally see and marveling at the other-worldly quality of the lights, none of them were prepared for what came next. What sounded like warped metal flaps falling away announced that ahead of them somewhere in the line, the floor gave out and Haymitch heard several shouts that faded into oblivion as the duct system passed the sound on to other areas of the city. Zelic suddenly kicked Haymitch in the face as he threw himself flat atop of Amara whose entire body was being pulled forward. Without thinking, Haymitch added himself to the human dogpile, scrambling to the front to see that where the floor had given out, some of their allies had fallen through, leaving an empty black abyss before them that stretched across two body lengths. On the far side, Katniss was staring back in shock at what had nearly happened to her as she clutched Stele's arm to keep from slipping into the hole. At some point, she had swapped positions and wriggled past everyone between Caesar and Stele, which meant that Finnick, Beetee, Mags, and Olathe had fallen through.

As for Caesar, his instructions to Amara to keep hold of his ankle had served him well, for she had continued to hold on as the floor opened up beneath him and as she clung to him, the weight of his body falling through space had pulled her along so that Zelic was using his weight to hold his wife down and was securing his own hold on Caesar's leg as the latter dangling above the chasm. Reaching over the edge, Haymitch added his hands to the effort and then started to inch his way backwards, finding any traction he could on the slick metal surface.

Finally, almost all of Caesar's leg was back on solid ground and Amara repositioned herself to take his hand and help him use his abdominal muscles to sit up the rest of the way. Beet-red in the face from the blood rush to his head, Caesar was wide-eyed and gasping at his narrow escape. The floor sealed back up behind him and then at the front of the line, Kilo announced that he had made it to their opening.

Amara let the situation catch up to her mentally and gave a terrified shriek.

"Get her out!" shouted Zelic.

"Form a line," instructed Caesar, laying flat on his back and pulling Amara over him so that she could crawl forward and pass him quickly to reach the exit. Katniss did the same, helping Amara scurry over her and then following up by pushing at her from behind. Everyone else in line saw what was happening and let Amara pass them by, the quicker to get her out into the corridor.

Eager to get out of the ducts before they gave way again, Haymitch ditched the use of his legs and relied purely on upper body strength to slip his way out of the narrow passage. When he came tumbling out into the hallway, he found that Amara was being contained by Zelic and August who both had to hold her down to prevent her from going into hysterics.

"Keep going," said Haymitch, allowing them no time to think of where the others had fallen to. The important thing was to get to a larger area to calm Amara before her shrieks roused the entire arena. They went ahead with Zelic and August carrying Amara's squirming form between the two of them. Two more doors straight ahead, then a right, and then Haymitch saw a dark, dried red print standing out clearly on the wall.

"We're almost there, come on," he urged, taking lead. Four more consecutive doorways and they burst into the Cornucopia cavern where Amara was let loose to ride out the rest of her panic attack and the others kept close around her, examining the picked-over supplies to find water, weapons, and food. Haymitch fell upon a large jug of water and forced himself to go relatively slow as he dumped the contents back into his throat to make up for all the fluids he had lost these past few hours.

Caesar and Kilo were sifting through a crate containing swords suited for men of their shorter reach and Caesar picked out one very similar to the blade Haymitch had given him within the first fifteen minutes of the Games (the one the Careers had confiscated when they captured him). Kilo was likewise looking for something he could wield when something struck him across the side of the head and a large axe came cutting down to cleave Caesar in half. Sticking up his sword, blade flat, Caesar parried the blow meant to sever him down the middle and then threw his weight into an offensive attack, hacking haphazardly, but determinedly at his opponent.

Even though he had been the one caught off guard, Caesar was now making the much bigger man back away as he struck out. And Haymitch finally got a good look at the giant form of Farrow who had painted himself to look like the ordinary and repetitive metal walls always closing in on them. The only thing that allowed Haymitch to constantly pick up his features were his eyes which were locked on Caesar, apparently disarmed by the fight this much smaller man was putting up. Not to be defeated, though, Farrow continued to block and strike out at Caesar with one hand as the other took a semi-unconscious Kilo by the back of his wetsuit.

"No, wait, stop! Caesar, stop!"

Haymitch made Caesar pause in his attack as Farrow put his axe blade to Kilo's jugular.

"What the hell are you doing with him?" Farrow demanded, glaring at Caesar. "He's part of the reason we're down here, why Crescere is dead."

"How dare you?" spat Caesar. "You have the gall to stand there and accuse me of rigging this entire operation and getting your mentor killed when you're the one who snapped her neck?"

Either this was an extremely lucky guess, or Caesar's aim had been to get Farrow to show emotion in reaction to Caesar's own accusation, but in any case, it appeared to be true, for Farrow's eyes fell in what was undeniably remorse.

Fury on behalf of the old woman who had had the courage in choosing to go into the Games at her age just to make sure someone else didn't have to burned bright within Haymitch.

"You bastard," he swore. "How much of a coward do you have to be to kill an old woman who never posed a threat to you, who would have killed herself to see you win? She deserved to make it this far more than you ever will."

"She asked me to, so I did," said Farrow solidly, though it sounded like he was pleading a bit for a sense of reasoning from Haymitch. "I knew she wasn't going to make it and I wasn't about to let the Gamemakers have their way with her or for the Careers to hunt her down, so I made it quick. I never planned on killing my mother-like figure when my name was drawn, but she volunteered and I couldn't stop her. If she wanted to protect me going in, I was going to protect her going out. And I'm going to win this for her."

Haymitch and his allies had backed Farrow against the force field so that the distorted view of the open ocean was all that stood behind District 11's last male tribute and a line of victors ready to kill him.

"No, you're not, because if you had cared about her like you should have, you would have died protecting her instead of being the first one to find her after the bloodbath to finish her off. She should still be here, not you."

"Maybe, maybe not, but since I'm here now, I have a goal, and that's to win, however necessary. I'm sorry."

Behind Farrow, a giant shadow grew larger and larger as it approached the force field. Farrow prepared to open Kilo's throat and Haymitch threw himself forward, knocking the axe from Farrow's grip and pushing Kilo down and out of the way. Farrow toppled into the force field, but as his upper body made contact with the water, his hand closed around Haymitch's arm and pulled him through. The waiting jaws of the gargantuan sea mutt that had descended upon the city closed around almost all of Farrow's body, leaving the hand holding Haymitch intact so that Haymitch was dragged out into the high pressure world of water and hauled alongside the mutt as it swam away with its dinner clutched in its maw.

Unprepared and thus, already low on oxygen, Haymitch squirmed to free himself of the dead man's grasp, fumbling at the painted fingers that were locked around his wrist. He swallowed a lungful of water and saw black spots darken his vision. The water pressure was pounding on his temples; he couldn't breathe.

The black spots merged together to form one cohesive vision of night that faded out to white, and then he was gone.


	10. Chapter 10: Unknowable

The pain endured, moving from his temples to his chest until his lungs screamed for air and his heart attempted to rip out of his skin. It was endless in an eternity of solid black nothing. Then he felt something hammer into his chest, felt something release a pinching pressure from his nose, felt a surge of air come from whatever was pressed to his cracked lips. His eyes flew open as if they operated on a switch and his back left the floor as his lungs took in an enormous gulp of air. Above him was a metal dome and to his right was the force field that held out the water.

Multiple faces hung over into his eye line, stress lines evident near the corners of their eyes as they watched him gasp greedily for breath. He made a mental count of them: Katniss, August, Stele, Zelic, Amara, Enid, Kilo, and Caesar. They were all still there, which meant nothing had changed in the time Haymitch had blacked out and now. Except, it hadn't been a black out, had it? It had felt more severe, more permanent.

Katniss wiped impatiently at her eyes and Haymitch had to take a moment to marvel at her. From the get-go, the two of them had gotten under each other's skin to the point where Haymitch had seriously considered throwing her into a large body of water or maybe smacking her upside the head with a frying pan, or even sending her into the corner to mull over her actions when she insisted on acting like a child. But from the moment she emerged from the arena, his strategy had altered. Would he take a bullet for her? Absolutely. Would she subject herself to torture from Snow to protect him? Without a doubt. But she was on the verge of weeping for him, or rather, what had nearly happened to him, which told him that for an extended period of time, he had been gone.

Katniss struck him on his chest which was already beginning to bruise, and he expelled a small amount of water as she pulled him into a horizontal embrace. "You idiot, why didn't you let go?"

"I didn't know that was an option," he choked, surprised that any sound came out when he was expecting more water. "Farrow had a hold of my arm and when the mutt got him, he locked on to me. It was a literal death grip. Someone tell me why I'm not dead."

Everyone's eyes shifted to Caesar, who Haymitch just now noticed was backing off from him, the only one sopping wet like himself.

"Next time try not to be so stupid," said Caesar and then walked off to pick through the supplies scattered around the Cornucopia.

Waiting until he was out of earshot, Katniss opened Haymitch's wetsuit enough to reveal the purplish-black bruising beginning to form there. "You were gone. I was waiting to hear the cannon because to all of us, you'd drowned."

"I think the rest of us were caught off guard by the size of the mutt when it showed up, so we didn't react at all when you pushed Farrow through," Zelic explained. "By the time we realized what you were doing, the mutt already had him, but you got dragged out too and none of us were fast enough to grab you. I thought for sure that the mutt would dive down deep and we'd never even find your body, but you got free, from what Caesar told us. He went through the force field and swam after you, but by then it'd already been a few minutes and when he brought you back up to city level, you weren't responding. You had no pulse and none of us knew what to do. Finnick would have known what to do because he grew up around water, but it took us a moment or two to realize that we didn't have that option. Lucky for you, Caesar seemed to know what course of action Finnick would take. He hammered on your chest, just above your heart, and breathed air into you in two quick bursts every time for a solid two minutes before he brought you back. I don't think anyone in the audience could have placed odds on you surviving when you'd been as good as dead for as long as you had been. It's a mystery to me how Caesar knew what to do what he did, though."

 _How, indeed. Caesar knows a lot more than he's letting on._

Haymitch stuck his hand up in the air, wordlessly asking for help, and both Stele and Zelic placed their hands on his back while tugging on his arm to pull him upright. They held him steady as the blood returned to his extremities and he fought off the initial wave of nausea that came with planting his feet. Once he was certain that he wouldn't fall, he waved them off and watched Caesar digging around in some boxes near the Cornucopia mouth. He went to Caesar who pretended to ignore his approach until Haymitch stood just on the other side of a large crate between the two of them.

Waiting for Haymitch to speak, Caesar raised an inquisitive dark eyebrow.

"You have quick reflexes," said Haymitch nonchalantly. "You blocked Farrow's attack and even pushed him to the edge of the room. He was a more experienced swordsman than you'll ever be, and yet you managed to put him on the defense almost immediately. And you just happened to know how to revive someone who was about to drown."

"You sound disappointed," Caesar observed.

"I'm just curious how you keep surprising me with what you can actually accomplish now that you're in the arena. I would have singled you out for early elimination, especially over the three victors you had a hand in killing—intentionally or not."

Caesar dropped the box of knives he had in his hands and they spilled out, their shimmering blades making a symphony of metal against metal on the floor. "Are you suggesting that I knew what was going to happen in that electrical trap room and intentionally placed myself at the back with Johanna so that she would fall? If I could have foreseen what was to come in that room and was out to win, I would have made one of the stronger players carry her and stay behind with her so that when the walkway broke apart, both of them would go over the side while I was at the front of the line in preparation to make a hasty exit. But I was the one who ended up holding onto her when I could easily have dropped her, and she didn't even die because of what I did; she cut Finnick and only then did she fall. I was about to go over with her. You saw her hit me; I didn't make her do that."

His voice was rising in volume, growing more and more stressed as his emotions came spilling out and he realized that his one true ally was having serious doubts about his loyalty as well as his honesty.

"I didn't pretend to kill Cashmere, I had no choice but to fight back at Farrow while he was trying to decapitate me, and I certainly didn't ask to be molested by Ramie. I knew what to do because I've had to meticulously watch the Games for longer than some of these victors have been alive. I had to guess strategies and watch rescue attempts that didn't always end well, but I've seen enough scenarios to know what methods might work to save a life in practically any situation because I've seen tributes try it on each other. You don't remember half of the Games that have happened because you've lived your life blackout drunk, but I didn't have that luxury, so I stored the information, wondering if I would ever get the chance to use it. And I did. I knew that without Finnick, no one knew how to revive you if there was any hope in saving you, so I took that responsibility and that chance in saving you. If there are repercussions to be had for doing it, I'll face them when the time comes, but for now, I don't regret it. I'm not going to apologize for it, so if you wanted a way out, you're going to have to be creative and figure out another opportunity."

Not only was this the last thing Haymitch intended to do when Careers were still alive, but Caesar was completely misinterpreting his anger for annoyance at being saved when in reality, Haymitch was beginning to doubt everything that had come out of the Master of Ceremonies' mouth.

"I just want to know what your endgame is because you've managed to survive up to this point when you claim you have no experience in survival techniques. You can swim, you can fight, and you know more than you're telling us."

"So you want me to tell you if my real purpose is to kill you all and emerge victor so that you can kill me now?" laughed Caesar. "Why would I do that? Even if I did plan on winning, why in the ever-living hell would I do that? I have nothing to hide; everything I've told you has been unbiased and completely true; it's not my fault if you don't believe me. I haven't even been given the same courtesy of you being entirely honest with me and you stand there accusing me of lying to you. And it's for the same reason that everyone else here doesn't trust me; I'm not one of you. You know nothing about me, so you can't predict what I'll do, and if that scares you, then go ahead and put an end to it. I promise you, I'll go down fighting."

With that, Caesar put his hand on his sword hilt, but he didn't unsheathe it, which was not only smart, but tactical. If he had drawn steel, he perceived that Haymitch would take it as a direct threat and their alliance would be over, even if Haymitch hadn't intended on killing him. By showing that he was prepared to fight, but leaving the decision up to Haymitch, he was granting Haymitch final say. And by the way his eyes were darting to either side of Haymitch, he knew that the others were standing close by, ready to assist Haymitch or to get between the two of them if necessary.

Hand gripping his own sword, Haymitch foresaw the battle to come. It would be short, that much was for sure. Caesar would match blades with him a few times, but neither he nor Haymitch were experts with these weapons and it would come down to who was fast enough to avoid the other's blade and who was strong enough to knock the other's sword aside. Haymitch easily had thirty pounds on Caesar, but the latter had proven already that he was quick. However, Caesar was wounded, and that would ultimately work against him. Haymitch's sword would go through Caesar's gut and Caesar would bend in around the blade, face screwed up in pain as the steel passed through his body. Then he would fall to the metal floor and die and his cannon would sound. And he would be gone from the world as if he had never existed.

Was he that much of a threat in what he wasn't telling them that Haymitch needed to kill him now? Or was he more of an asset? They had lost Johanna because of him, but there was no way he could have predicted that death and in all fairness, he had held on; Johanna had been the one to sign her own death certificate. And Caesar had taken out Cashmere when it would have favored him more than anything to ally himself with the Careers.

It wasn't his bravery and skill that unsettled Haymitch; it was the fact that Haymitch had never had to deal with anyone that could match wits with him in an arena. Caesar could potentially discover their master plan and if he really was playing them all for fools in the grandest deceptive scheme possible, he could ruin everything if he chose to expose them.

The bruises and cuts on his body spoke otherwise, though. Why would someone go to such lengths to trick the entire nation? He wouldn't have admitted himself to such torment just to be tossed into the Games with experienced victors, just to throw them all for a loop. The only other conclusion was that Caesar had been telling the truth from the beginning, but since he had always been seen as Capitol spawn—if still the friendliest and most sincere of them—Haymitch had judged him just as Stele and Gloss had.

"Is it more important to you to right now to defend yourself or to have me believe you?" asked Haymitch at long last.

"That's all I asked for since the beginning. You saw that Stele was ready to kill me before I could even say a word to him. You stuck up for me then, but if you don't believe me now, no one will."

Haymitch let go of his hilt. "Then I believe you."

Caesar did not copy him. "Please, I know a bullshitter when I see one. I'm a professional, and I know when someone is lying to me."

"I don't entirely believe you; but I'm not saying that your motive is to kill us. I'm at a stalemate, but for the time being, I'm not going to hurt you and I won't let anyone else either. You have my word on that."

"I don't think everyone shares that sentiment," said Caesar, nodding at the others who stood behind Haymitch.

"If you're waiting for universal popularity, we're going to be in this standoff until the Careers come to reclaim the territory," said Stele. "You already know that I don't trust you, but for my own reasons. I don't like you either, but I don't have to."

"I trust him," said Katniss and she, of everyone present, had more reason than anyone else to not want Caesar with them. If she could vouch for him, no one else had a better argument against her.

Finally, Caesar released his grip on his weapon and the others began to scavenge supplies for their immediate need. Zelic and Amara handed out rations while Katniss tended to the scattered wounds among them including Kilo's souvenir from Farrow's axe.

"Are you okay?" she Katniss, pulling up a seat beside Kilo who was dabbing at the thin sliver of blood along his jugular.

"I'm just fine," said Kilo as Katniss smeared a healing cream on his wound and plastered a bandage to it in a display that looked sloppy, but would keep the cut from getting infected. "If that bastard had killed me, it would have been the final insult to District 6, having both tributes cut down by the same man."

Somehow Haymitch had forgotten that it had been Farrow to bash Demi's skull in during those opening moments. Her death was unforgettable, but her executioner had blurred in his mind because at the time, it wasn't important, and he hadn't gotten a proper moment to ask Kilo about it at all since regrouping with him. Of course Kilo was going to take Farrow's attempt on his life as an insult. Even if Farrow wasn't the real enemy, it had still been his hands to hold Demi's head as he shoved it down onto the hardened surface of the Cornucopia.

"I'm sure she didn't even feel it," said Amara kindly. "And Farrow must have known that it would be the quickest way to end it, which is why he did what he did—"

"Do _not_ sit there and defend that man's actions," snapped Kilo.

"She's not defending him," said Katniss, coming to Amara's aid. "Farrow knew that of all the ways to kill someone, taking out the brain was the quickest and most painless way to do it because he's been around long enough to see how tributes kill each other and how long they last after an attempt. Besides taking her head clean off, stopping her brain was the best option, and he was strong enough to do it. And even if I don't agree with him killing Crescere when a better man would have died for her, he _did_ take the time to look for Demi personally and end it before the Careers or the Gamemakers could get to her. He wasn't armed when he killed her, which means that he held off looking for a weapon to make it quick for her."

"So you think that what he did was an act of kindness?" Kilo challenged, backing away so Katniss had to stop tending to him.

"Yeah, I do. That's what we do to animals that get sick in my district. It's better to end it than to have them suffer, even if it's easier for us to make them keep on going."

"Demi wasn't an animal. She was a human being with severe brain trauma and she deserved all the help her victory should have brought her. The winnings she received should have been dedicated to helping her recover, but since she was deemed incompetent after her Games, the Capitol kept her money and sent her to a home for the disturbed and irrelevant. She sacrificed her sanity for other people's entertainment and they threw her out like trash. And Farrow was no different when he just smashed her head in like it was nothing, like she wasn't even there—"

"She wasn't; that's what I've been trying to tell you," said Haymitch. "Her brain had been dead for years. She wasn't living, Kilo, she was gone."

"She was still breathing. Her heart was still beating."

"And she didn't even know it. The only part of her that was still her was her face, and that's why you never gave up on her."

"People are stubborn and blindly loyal to a fault when their loved ones are involved," said Caesar, inviting himself into the conversation. "They'll do everything they can to ignore whatever faults or disabilities their friends and family have, even if acknowledging those imperfections would be more beneficial for the suffering party."

"You sound just like those doctors that would tell me that Demi's results were inconclusive after I spent half of my winnings to find a cure for her," said Kilo with derision. "But you don't have a damaged loved one, if you have a loved one at all, so where do you get off preaching about what was best for Demi to me?"

"You assume that because I've lived in the Capitol that my affection for anyone is artificial?"

"Oh, I don't think he was accusing _you_ of not being able to care about someone," said Stele, wringing his juice pouch until Haymitch was sure that he was going to rip the thing in half. It was Stele's way of keeping his hands busy as he waited for Olathe to make her way back to him. "I think Kilo meant it more along the lines of being offended that you have the audacity to give him advice on a subject that you don't know anything about on account of not having a lover with special needs."

"Demi wasn't my lover," said Kilo immediately. "She was still a child in her Games and I would never…I wouldn't have—while she—while her mind…"

As he stumbled about to find the correct wording, Stele talked over him and continued to address Caesar. "Your lover probably has money to waste and wouldn't know the first thing about discomfort if he's lucky enough to call himself the winner of your affection."

"My lover is, in fact, female, but I can see how you might think otherwise," said Caesar and Haymitch imagined the audience's gasps at this private detail into Caesar's personal life. Even though he spent several weeks a year in front of a camera with his boisterous attitude and infectious optimism, Panem knew close to nothing about him. His taste—or, as Haymitch corrected himself, more like his personalized stylist's taste—suggested that he could swing either way, but it was strongly hinted at that Caesar Flickerman favored the company of men. Only, none of them had seen the man who had been launched into the Games. The flamboyant persona was gone, replaced with a man who more or less resembled Haymitch in terms of sarcasm, pessimism, and disdain. The way he carried himself, his smile, his voice, his expressions, his gesticulations, and his emotions—were all entirely different from those that belonged to the man in the colorful wigs. The character he had played for the cameras was just that, a character, revealing to Haymitch that Caesar was an incredibly gifted actor to go along with the act for so many years.

A small part of Haymitch's brain warned him that Caesar could even be playing them right now, feeding on the group's sympathy, but somehow, he knew that at least these details about his lover and his sexuality were real.

"And no one knew?" Haymitch asked.

"I made it a point of not being seen with her anywhere. I've always known that being the final word between the tributes and the Capitol was a dangerous job and I warned her before anything started that she could very well catch hell for being affiliated with me. But she persisted and I knew she wanted me because she's never let me buy a single thing for her that she couldn't afford herself. Before being placed in the Launch Room, I managed to relay a message to her, warning her to stay away and that it was farewell, that I loved her and never would take back a moment with her. She's watching right now, I know she is, but she won't cry when it's my turn. That's what I've always admired about her."

"Is she from the Capitol?" asked Katniss, sounding vaguely curious.

"No. Like me, she was born in the districts, though I can't say where. I can't reveal anything about her, for her safety. But she had her share of hardships to go through, some of which involved major changes that she had to undergo for the sake of her family. She has her mental health, thankfully, but she and I both try to ignore the faults in each other to keep our relationship alive. It's something we all do, even for those people we don't know as well as we'd like to. For instance: you all are trying to ignore the fact that you can't say for sure whether or not I was planted here as a spy for the Capitol or if I am genuinely telling the truth about being punished for taking your side in this Quarter Quell. But because I have contributed to your alliance and struck a heavy blow to your opponents, you're willing to overlook my current flaws, even if it isn't in my best interest."

There was an uncomfortable silence as they all considered Caesar's words, punctured only by August suggesting that they should all rest up while they had the chance. Using their packs as pillows, they slept with their backs facing inward and their guard watching the doors. Katniss took first watch, allowing Haymitch to finally rest, for however brief a period. He placed his knife between his thighs and kept his hands in close reach to it as his eyes flickered between Katniss's braid to Caesar's sprawled sleeping position nearby.

Dare he close his eyes? Dare he truly trust Caesar Flickerman after the doubt that had been placed in the air at his proclamation that he was an exceptional and accomplished liar that they had no way of deciphering?

"Katniss is faster to the draw than me, if that'll help you sleep," Caesar whispered, cracking one eye open to catch Haymitch's gaze.

Was Haymitch's unease so obvious that Caesar could sense him unwilling to rest just to keep an eye on him? Even if it was true in that Katniss could put an arrow in Caesar before the latter could make a move on her or the others, Caesar was still too smart for Haymitch's liking, too wily for his comfort.

But then again, Caesar had no need to rescue Haymitch. He could have let the mutt have him if his intentions had been to spy for the Capitol or even kill Katniss. Maybe he did have knowledge with a blade, but it had helped to save Kilo too, hadn't it? Having Caesar around had been the smartest move Haymitch had made in the Games thus far, and if he had any reason to think that Caesar would betray them, Caesar was outnumbered. He was a wild card, but Haymitch knew Plutarch would tell him to trust that wild card.

So he did.

He closed his eyes.

And opened them when a hand touched his head. He drew his knife, but it was only to Caesar standing up with his sword in hand as the others roused around them.

"Something's coming this way," he told Haymitch.

They all stood up, watching the doors and preparing to meet the Careers head-on since they were about evenly matched, if only they had Finnick with them. Haymitch was not prepared to see Finnick himself leading the way with a wooden log held up to act as a shield in case of flying projectiles. He had Mags on his back with Beetee between himself and Olathe who all ran into plain view and at the sight of their comrades, shouted out in joy.

Olathe rushed to Stele and threw her arms around him, but he didn't return her affection until she asked for it. Then he hugged her in that fiercely protective way that made Haymitch's heart hurt for the two of them, the man who loved this broken woman enough to come into the arena to defend her as long as possible, and the woman who never stood a chance since her name was called. She kissed Stele's cheek and he hesitated, confused at her sudden display of affection for him.

"Are you okay?" she asked him in concern and he laughed.

"Am _I_ —you're bleeding." Stele nodded at a cut above Olathe's eyebrow.

"Oh, that's nothing."

"It should still be cleaned," suggested Beetee, shaking hands with Haymitch. "When we heard the cannon, we feared the worst. But if it wasn't one of you, I assume it was a Career?"

"Farrow," Enid corrected, and then explained how the last tribute from District 11 had met his end and how Caesar had rescued Haymitch from an early departure from the Games.

"Quick thinking," Finnick commended, but then saw that Caesar had dropped back from the reunion, obviously feeling out of place. He put Mags down who went to Caesar and took his face in her gnarled hands, smoothing his bangs out of his eyes to get a good look at him. She ran her thumbs down the bridge of his nose, over his eyelids, and across the apples of his cheeks in the most fascinating display of concern Haymitch had ever seen. Caesar allowed her to touch him thusly, arms at ease as the old woman checked him over and only when she ended by placing her hand atop his head with a gentle pat did Haymitch see Caesar finally breathe out as if he had been holding it in anticipation of Mags's verdict.

Mags made a small series of gestures to Caesar that made no sense to Haymitch, but Caesar must have understood them, for he took one of those aged hands and pressed his lips to it in acknowledgment.

"What was that all about?" Haymitch asked Finnick in an undertone.

Leaning close to answer, Finnick said, "He's hurting, and Mags is playing mother. She can't help it; she sees someone in pain and wants to help, no matter who they are. It could be a Peacekeeper who just shot up a village and she'd still want to take the pain away if he was wounded. But she's always liked Caesar, so she's telling him something to reassure him, but I don't know exactly what she said. I assume he understands because he spent a lot of time at annual celebrations and behind the scenes gigs studying her way of communicating to be able to talk to and understand her. No one else from the Capitol ever cared enough to do that so that after she had her stroke, it was only me that could understand her for a while."

Mags had finished reassuring Caesar and tapped the tip of her finger to his nose fondly in a way that weaseled a grin out of him.

"What happened to you four?" asked Amara. "When the floor gave out…where'd you go?"

"We landed in a completely different eco system," said Beetee. "It looked like a scene right out of Kilo's games. It was a room, but it was big enough to house mountains. The science of it doesn't make sense to me, but it was—"

"Incredible," said Finnick.

Just then the alarm Haymitch had started to hate began its siren, but what deadly trap was there in the Cornucopia cavern? The answer was revealed as the bottom of the forcefield began to rise, letting in the ocean outside.

"They're flooding the cavern, move!"

With time to only snatch up what was closest to them, they ran for it, straight through the nearest door. Finnick swept Mags up onto his back, still managing to lead the way. He sent everyone through one by one until he, like Haymitch, realized that they were three people short. The water had created a flood with the power of a chest-high wave and caught out in the breakers were Kilo, Stele, and Olathe. She was the strongest swimmer of the three and hooked her arms around Stele's waist, letting the waves push them toward the doors, but Kilo was still struggling to keep his head above the water as he was tossed about.

Handing off her bow to Haymitch, Katniss made a horizontal dive into the water and swam out to him, flowing with the water instead of fighting it. She grabbed hold of Kilo's wetsuit and he latched onto her arm.

"The hallway's filling up, we won't have room!" shouted August.

Olathe and Stele arrived before them, floating right into their arms, but as Haymitch shoved them into the narrow corridor that was almost halfway full, he knew that he had to abandon the group, or Katniss.

Plutarch's warning might as well have been a gong being pounded out right next to his ears for the sudden migraine it gave him. His choice was made for him. He turned to dive out into the water when he felt Katniss slam against him, pushing him into the next corridor. The water was nearing the ceiling and they were running out of room to breathe.

"Someone activate the next door or we're gonna drown!" Haymitch spluttered.

He saw Finnick's head disappear under the water and the next second, they were being swept into the corridor beyond, smashing against the opposite door as the water continued to pour in. Finnick was the last one through and ducked back down to seal off their hallway before much more water could spill in. Now floating in a half-full room, they began to tread water as they did a head count again to ensure everyone was still with them. Half of the group was unarmed, having lost their weapons in the tidal wave that carried them from hall to hall. Haymitch had to dive down to the floor to retrieve his own weapon and then asked who still needed one. Stele handed over a sword to August and Beetee gave up his weapon to Zelic who could use it more efficiently, leaving himself, Mags, and Kilo unarmed.

A good portion of their supplies had also gone missing and even with splitting rations in half to compensate, they were still going to run out in a day or two and all of the energy spent to get to the Cornucopia now seemed wasted, even if they did eliminate another opponent in the process. All Haymitch could do was hope that Farrow's death would help to satisfy Plutarch's predicted casualty number. They still needed at least two people dead before getting them out of the arena was even an option…

Katniss activated the next panel and the room beyond was made accessible, cutting the water height in half again. They continued this pattern until they could walk freely without having water slosh around their ankles and at the back of the troupe, Caesar was lifting Mags with every third step to help her move more quickly. They shuffled through the maze of halls, not caring to mark their way this time since going back to the Cornucopia would only result in the Gamemakers causing another flood to wipe them out permanently this time.

They stopped every half hour to check that none of their wounds had reopened, though Caesar was bleeding ever so slightly through his makeshift stitches and Mags happily reset them. Another few minutes were needed so that Stele, who had swallowed the most water, could take a very long bathroom break, watched by August in the hall behind the others so that he wouldn't be alone if the door sealed off and so that they didn't all have to listen to him urinate.

The zombie-like state of walking without caring or knowing where was beginning to set in as half of them cleared a room. Enid tripped over her own feet and smacked into Katniss, starting a domino effect that carried to the front where Finnick and Beetee were. As they began to pick themselves up, they heard the damned alarm and Haymitch, who had been in the half of people who tripped, tried desperately to disentangle himself to help everyone out of the death compartment. Stele dragged Olathe bodily through it and then Zelic cleared it, followed by Kilo, and then the door slid shut and the sound of a lock being latched echoed tenfold in the narrow hall.

Somehow, in some stupid, unpredictable way, no one had been carrying Mags, and with Kilo being second-to-last behind Zelic and in front of Mags, the old woman had pushed him on ahead of her as the door latched shut. The alarm was still going and Mags was watching the walls in anticipation. Then blue jets of billowing snow and ice began to emit from the vents. Instantly Mags clung to herself as her breath formed on the air. Her tiny aged form looked like a lost child in a blizzard as she started to walk in place.

"Mags, keep moving, keep your body warm!" Finnick called, shoving his way through them all to get a proper look at the door's built-in window. "It's gonna get cold in there, so keep moving, no matter what you do!"

It wasn't just going to get cold; it was going to drop to sub-zero temperatures that no human could endure. The compartments were designed to kill, not make the tributes uncomfortable. Placing his hand on the glass, Haymitch felt it growing colder by the second in an alarmingly fast rate. His skin stuck and he panicked, yanking with his entire arm before Katniss did some quick thinking and poured her lukewarm water from her canteen onto it. With a loud squelching noise, Haymitch's hand came free.

"The temperature is dropping too rapidly. She's going to freeze to death," said Beetee in resignation, peering at the room from under his glasses.

"She knows that," said Caesar, his jaw set in dismay.

"No, we have to get her out of there!" Finnick shook Caesar by the front of his wet suit, threw him against the wall, and started digging his trident into the sealed area to try and wedge the door open.

Mags hugged her arms as her hair became solid in place and icicles formed under her nose. She put her hands to her mouth and extended them to Finnick in a kiss farewell before the frost sealed an opaque layer over the window.

"Mags!" Finnick cried, kicking and beating at the door to no avail. It was but the work of a few moments and they heard the cannon that sent Finnick to his knees, still calling for his mentor. Enid coiled her arm around Finnick and held him as he sobbed and beat his trident against the tightly sealed door.

"We need to move in case they open the compartment," said Stele.

Caesar cast a doubtful look down on Finnick. "I don't think we're going anywhere."

"We have to," said Katniss. "We're going to move, even if we have to drag him along with us. It's wait here for the Careers or hope to catch them off guard and I don't like our chances with this compartment behind us." When no one moved, Katniss appealed to Haymitch who took one of Finnick's arms and draped it across his shoulders. Zelic took the other, and August took lead, leaving the death compartment behind along with the remains of one of the most kind-hearted, genuinely good people Haymitch had ever known.

It was hardly ten minutes into their walk when they entered into what Beetee was previously describing as an eco system within the city. True to point, the dimensions and science of it did not make sense, how the Gamemakers could fit an entire skyscraper city into an underwater cavern, and yet Haymitch found himself standing upon a ledge, looking down at the ground which was miles below. The air was crisp and the wind harsh as a pale pink morning sun winked at them through a smattering of clouds. The walkway they stood on swayed in the wind and Caesar took a knee, holding a hand over his eyes as his cheeks bulged.

"You okay back there?" asked Katniss.

"I just want you to know, I'm going to vomit."

"What's wrong with him now?" Stele complained.

"I might or might not have mentioned that I have vertigo," Caesar responded.

"Of course you do," said Stele.

"You didn't, and we don't have time for this," said Zelic, turning his nose up in disgust as Caesar vomited up any saltwater that remained in his system.

Olathe sidled along the ledge to where Caesar was attempting to grind his fingernails into the metal underneath him and took his hand. "Keep your eyes closed and hold onto me."

"I'd prefer to crawl."

"I'd prefer to drag you or kick you over the side, but we can't all have what we want in life," called Stele.

Frowning disapprovingly at his hazing of Caesar, Olathe guided Caesar to his feet, rested one of his hands on her shoulder, and kept the other in hers, taking careful, measured footsteps. Haymitch remembered how Caesar had been kind enough to stop and help Johanna in a similar situation with a very similar walkway, and doubled back, warning Caesar of his approach as he took the man's arm and pulled him along with Olathe.

"If you puke on me, I'll disembowel you," he warned.

"That's fair."

Haymitch took lead, dragging Caesar—and by some extent, Olathe—along at a faster speed than was wise just in case the Gamemakers decided to pitch all three of them off of the bridge. It seemed to extend forever onward, the end never in sight, but Haymitch found that by occasionally glancing down and then back up, the exit appeared closer. When they reached the end, Katniss activated the panel that took them back to the shadowy underwater caverns and they stepped through the doorway.

Right into Tyrek and Enobaria.


	11. Chapter 11: The Mighty Fall

It was a toss-up to say who was more startled at the other group's appearance, but the one to take home the prize for fastest reaction time was Olathe as she matched blades with Enobaria, saving Stele from getting his nose chopped off by Enobaria's sword. Enid threw her knife at Tyrek to buy them some time as the the bigger man charged them, but he blocked her attack with laughable ease and closed in on her. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and pulled her into his arms, positioning them to snap her neck.

"No, wait!" August cried. " _Wait!_ Leave her, take me instead!"

Apart from Olathe and Enobaria who were still battling on either side of the doorway, everyone else froze. Katniss held her bow on Tyrek, but he strategically placed Enid's face in front of his own to shield himself. The terrified look that came over Enid reminded Haymitch of how very young she still was and the fact that she and Katniss were still teenagers, not adults. She had never been this close to death before and though she knew the risks when she volunteered to die so that Katniss could live, she wasn't ready for the end. She called out to her uncle and August sounded close to tears as he begged for her life.

"Let her go, I'll throw down my weapons now. Just—just don't hurt her."

The most microscopic flinch of regret flittered across the veteran victor's face and though it only lasted a moment, Haymitch saw the world flash by in that half-second. Tyrek would kill Enid and Haymitch's group would retaliate, but the Gamemakers had programmed this meet-up because Haymitch's group was too strong. The Careers were separated and they would be picked off unless their opponents' numbers decreased.

 _The only fight we have is the one they give us, over and over._

"Please…" said August in the most natural tone Haymitch had ever heard him use. This girl was his niece, practically his daughter in how close they were, how he had provided for her and cared for her, mentored her into her first victory. She understood him better than anyone because they shared in nightmares, in survivor's guilt. Almost no one in all of Panem was lucky enough to have a family member know the horrors of the Game and understand them. Enid was everything to August. And she was about to die.

"That's not how the Game works, my friend," said Tyrek, the sympathy now gone from his face. "Better for her to die now than later when the Gamemakers have something worse in store. It'll be painless, I promise." And he snapped her neck.

August gave a wounded cry as Enid's lifeless body toppled from Tyrek's arms and landed on the narrow walkway, her terrified eyes still open, looking at her uncle without seeing him. District 8's tribute went for his sword again to take on Zelic and Amara, but his approach was entirely offensive and they had no room to breathe as Tyrek stepped over Enid's body and advanced on them. Stele attempted to come to Olathe's aid, but the battle between her and Enobaria was too close for him to interfere.

Katniss backed up, leading the rest of the group that couldn't fit into either fight between the battling couples. Olathe dropped onto her back and Enobaria rushed her, but the former tossed her bigger opponent up and over so that Enobaria went crashing into Haymitch who still had a hold on Caesar's wetsuit, which was a good thing, otherwise Caesar would have gone over the ledge. Cutting her way through them, Enobaria got a good slice of Katniss's arm and Beetee's cheek before she took off running.

Now abandoned, Tyrek pressed Zelic and Amara back into Haymitch so that they all ended up in a pile of confused limbs and sharp objects. Tyrek went for the kill, gripping Zelic's throat as he prepared to skewer him through the mouth, but he was pulled up short by August's blade parrying the attack. Stele came at him from behind and shoved him hard before going in for the final strike where both his and August's swords slid into Tyrek at the same time, one into his sternum and the other into his gut, then August pushed his body away from the blades so that they could watch it topple out of sight and disappear beneath the clouds.

In the silence following the fight, the wind died out completely just for a moment so that the entire arena could hear August's heartbreaking cry of loss. Zelic massaged his throat and his hand came away bloody, not with his own blood, but Tyrek's from where the impact of both blades had made it splatter out onto his would-be victim. He then took a knee beside Enid's motionless form and turned her over to close her still wide-open eyes.

August set his niece's head in his lap and kissed her forehead as the others stood as much around him as they could to block out the wind. Haymitch didn't know where the cameras were situated this high up with nothing but artificial sky above them, but he knew Plutarch was watching their every move. Enid made ten and it was time for Plutarch to make good on his promise. Haymitch hoped that the very obvious direct stare at the cameras would tell Plutarch that Haymitch expected him to keep his end of the bargain and prevent any more bloodshed, but he almost had to laugh at that.

Gamemakers didn't abide by the laws of fair play.

"You have to leave her now," said Olathe when it seemed that August had let out the last of his infuriated shouts. She and Stele took either side of August's arms and made him stand, stepping gingerly over Enid's body as they kept moving toward the end of the walkway. Haymitch stuck out his hand behind him and felt Caesar grab it, then they brought up the rear once again as they passed back into the world of repetitive metal corridors. As soon as the doors shut behind them, the corridor lit up in red.

Haymitch looked about wildly for an exit, preferring to take his chances back out on the walkway, but the only way out was the door at the other end of the room, which was about a quarter mile away. He reached to activate the grilles behind him, but a section of the wall peeled off and then slammed behind him where he had almost put his hand. He took a wary step back and then another section of the wall slammed together.

"Oh, shit…"

"Book it, go now!" shouted Finnick. He made a big deal about being the last go, but when it was just him and Caesar, Caesar hit him in the gut to make him start running. Haymitch glanced back every fifth footfall to ensure that the others were following, but then he saw the walls come together between Finnick and Caesar, which pulled him up short. He waited, for a cannon, a scream, something…

Then the walls parted and somehow, Caesar was several yards back from where he had last been. Apparently the walls had pushed him back so that this last sprint for safety would be a spectacle—or a very short disappointment.

Caesar took one cautious step forward to see if the walls would cave in in front of him, but when they didn't, he took another measured step and another until the solid metal behind him clamped together just shy of his heel. His swallow was visible from where Haymitch stood just beside the door.

Sinking forward into a sprinter's stance, Caesar took off. It would not have been considered a skill worthy of a high score during his private sessions if he had been afforded such a thing, but if Caesar had any skill to speak of, it was his speed. Other than Kilo, he was easily the smallest male in these Games. Short, skinny, and slippery, he could sustain his sprint for longer than Haymitch could, that was for sure, and Haymitch had never seen a person that age have such stamina. The walls began to collide behind him, but he kept ahead of them, his legs a blur as he pumped his arms madly to outrun the timer. If it had been anyone else, Haymitch would have taken them for crushed meat as soon as the first walls came together.

Haymitch was more or less yanked through the doorway by Katniss and Olathe, but just as he went through, a red beam began to flash where the doors would naturally come together. Haymitch stuck the bare minimum of his knife handle in the beam and watched it crumple into ash before him. The timing between the beams was sporadic and in no way predictable, but the walls kept closing in.

Caesar overtook Finnick and both of them ran for the doorway, only pulling up short when Haymitch screamed at them to stop before they stepped in the beam.

"You can't time it, you just have to go!"

"That'll slice us in half," said Finnick, dancing in place as the _boom_ of the walls shutting behind him came closer.

"No, there's a pattern to it," insisted Beetee. "You have half a second every fifteen flashes. About thirty seconds to the next opening."

"We don't have thirty seconds," said Caesar. He had a firm grip on Finnick as if preparing to push the younger man through the beam and hope for the best.

Finnick stared at the beam, eyes vacant but remarkably, clear. He put his hands on the back of Caesar's wetsuit and gave one almighty shove that sent Caesar sprawling through the doorway between beams just as the walls reached him.

But the walls didn't come together. The beam stayed up so that Finnick couldn't proceed, but the walls stopped with only enough room for Finnick to stretch his arms out on either side of him. An exhaust pipe burst above, dousing him in hot steam and he shrieked, his voice confined to what remained of the once enormous room. And all at once, Haymitch knew what was about to happen and found that he couldn't look away.

With a groan and an unbearable screech, the walls began to move together, slowly, gratuitously for the audience watching at home.

 _Plutarch, you bastard_.

Finnick glanced at the ceiling, felt along the walls for a weak spot, and examined the beam again, but it was to no avail. He looked to Haymitch for a way out, but Haymitch had none to give. Already it was too confined for Finnick to spread his arms out anymore and standing abreast was almost impossible. Finnick turned his body sideways, and seeing that the others were watching him with their grief already present, he moved as far back as he could as if to lessen the sight of gore about to greet them.

There was no room left for him, and he was occupying the space the walls needed, so the walls began to crush him. At first it was a whimper of what was to come, but as more pressure was applied to all sides of him, the greater his cries grew. Through the beam, Haymitch heard the first bones begin to crack. Finnick's face had screwed up in agony, his shrieks filling the small available space in the room. There was blood squirting out of various body parts now and the tension in his features had gone lax as the overwhelming pressure on his body began to shut him down from the inside.

Haymitch couldn't watch anymore, wrenching his eyes away from the gruesome sight. He looked instead to where Caesar had backed into the corner of the hallway, hand over his mouth as he gazed in horror at what was occurring through the window.

It was Katniss's voice alone that reached them all.

"Come on," she said, pulling at Olathe who was screaming with her hands clawing at her face. "Don't watch anymore, keep moving!"

Knowing that if he looked back, he would see an eye pop out or some other horrific detail, Haymitch kept his eyes closed as he reached for Amara and dragged her along. He thanked God that Finnick had stopped screaming, but the cries of despair from his teammates were just as soul-destroying. He couldn't run anymore; every compartment was a race to exit, praying that no one would get stuck inside but knowing that wasn't how the Game worked and now they had lost how many to the damned death traps? Johanna, Mags, Finnick…no more.

He stopped, pulling Amara and by extension, Zelic, to a halt as he did so. He called out to the others that he was turning left instead of right, activated the pad that would open the double doors, and hollered every obscenity in his head to the cameras as they passed into a moonlit world painted with more stars than Haymitch had ever seen from home. Fluorescent plants grew around them unlike any Haymitch knew—except for in a replay of Games he was too young to have seen live the first time. This was a replica of Tyrek's arena, a land of eternal night.

"Are you done?" Haymitch shouted at the nearest bushes. "Is that enough for one day, or do you need more? You bastards, you heartless pieces of shit, come on!"

He knew that only the Gamemakers could hear him, that his voice was either being muted or the cameras had panned away from him to the audiences across Panem watching, but he wanted Plutarch and Snow to hear him. It would do less than nothing, but being able to curse them both to hell and let them see his true rage was a luxury he had waited so long to be able to afford. He hacked his sword into a nearby tree stump and began to shred it to strips of bark, not caring what mutts or enemies he brought down on them. Then he was being pulled to the ground, not forcibly in a way to make him shut up, but to comfort him.

He waited to hear Katniss speaking in an undertone to him about how they still had a job to do, but instead her heard Olathe humming. He tried to sit up, but she was surprisingly strong, curling her arms around his waist and pulling him to her so that he almost lay atop her with her nose pressing into the back of his neck. She sat up slightly and nestled him close even as he continued to fight her and then her fingers were combing through his hair, trickling one by one through his filthy blonde strands. A shiver went through him that he'd felt just once before—when Effie kissed him, and the feeling was so bizarre to be having right here and now in the arena toward a women who he had had no prior relationship with, that he stopped fighting just to try and comprehend it.

He let her continue to run her fingers through his hair until he knew he had nothing left to combat the Gamemakers with. Gradually, she released her hold from him and set his head on the grass. Then she and Stele volunteered to take first watch. Haymitch remained where she had left him, but rolled over to see the state of the rest of the crew.

Zelic and Amara were sitting hand-in-hand, whispering to one another while not far away, August had his head bowed almost as if he was asleep. Beetee was cleaning his glasses, Kilo had taken to adding iodine to his water from a nearby spring, and Katniss was watching Haymitch for signs of disturbance almost as if he were a wild animal that she would need to put down if he made any sudden movements. Haymitch shook his head at her to let her know that she need not watch over him like that, but she didn't look reassured.

Behind her, Caesar had his hands clasped at his mouth, his knees pulled to his chest. Beetee noticed his self-silencing posture and questioned him, more likely to break the silence that lingered after Finnick's demise than anything else.

"You're quite fast," said Beetee.

"What?" asked Caesar as if just noticing that he was in the company of others.

"I said that you're fast. I wouldn't have expected someone of your, um, comfortable background to be so agile."

"Not agile, just speedy," Caesar corrected. "I'm not as nimble as you'd think, and it comes at a price." Without seeming to care that everyone could see him, Caesar opened his wetsuit safe compartment, took another quarter of his precious pill sent by an anonymous donor, and popped it into the back of his throat. "I'll take next watch."

And this time, Haymitch didn't worry about leaving this Capitol infiltrator to stand guard over the rest of them.

Another four deaths in one day. Four. In _one_ day, and that number was monumental considering that Haymitch knew them all. Enid was supposed to be the last, but two more had gone just as quickly. He couldn't say that he grieved for Tyrek other than it being a tragedy that any of the victors had to die in the first place. But Finnick was always a contender for the win. Everyone who wasn't betting on Katniss was betting on Brutus, Enobaria, or Finnick and yet, he was gone, leaving weaker players in his place.

No one would be betting on Kilo and maybe just a handful were still considering Beetee's intelligence over the other victors' brute strength, but absolutely no one would be staking any odds on Caesar. Even as he showed them time and again that he was a worthy opponent to any of these victors, he was a traitor and Snow would more than likely punish those people who dared to place bets on him. And if he somehow won this thing…

No one would win this. Plutarch had promised, given Haymitch evidence, convinced him…

Was Haymitch really that blind? Had Plutarch just pulled off the grandest scheme in all of Panem in convincing Haymitch that an outside life existed that could shield Katniss and Peeta from the Capitol? Was this all just a plot to create an unforgettable year in the Games and secure Plutarch's reign as Head Gamemaker? No one would go through that much careful planning and secrecy just to make a bang in the Games, and this was the only factor Haymitch had to rely on to not go to pieces right now.

What he needed—and he was ashamed to admit it—was that gentle touch Olathe had given him, but he didn't ask for it.

He expected to hear crying during the night, but he was not expecting it from who it came from, which was Kilo. The bioluminescent plants showed him on his side, hugging his chest, and he looked no larger than a child as he lay shivering and weeping in his wetsuit, though Haymitch didn't know exactly what for. There was no way to warm him, and no way to console him, so Haymitch could only sit by and watch, useless as a protector of these people that he was responsible for in more ways than one.

Caesar went to sit beside him, rubbing at Kilo's arms to circulate some blood. Here he was, a wild card in the Games who had no idea of Plutarch's plan, and he was making better use of himself than Haymitch. He was risking life and limb for people who had faked their hospitality toward him because what else could he do? Some chose to go savage in the end with death so near, some chose to give up and let insanity consume them, but Caesar was choosing to just remain human because it was his one opportunity to do so when he had missed out on all the children he had sent off to the arena.

Kilo leaned into him and clung to him like a child holding tightly to its parent in the wake of some terrifying nightmare. If anyone else was awake and watching, they said nothing but as Haymitch was about to feign sleep, Caesar caught his eye and shrugged.

"It's what Mags would have done."

It was exactly what Mags would have done, refusing to let anyone go to sleep in tears and Haymitch ached for her to the point where it physically hurt to feel his heart beating in his chest. He sat up, knowing that sleep would not come back now and so he moved closer to Caesar and Kilo, the latter of whom was biting down on a knife handle to try and quiet himself.

"She watched me host for thirty-seven years," said Caesar without being prompted. "I sent so many children to their deaths, but she was always amicable toward me. And even after being thrown into the Games with her where she could have slipped a knife into my ribs while I slept, she didn't. She helped me so selflessly, not because she thought I could help keep her alive, but because she wanted to. Because it's humane to want to help a dying person and barbaric if you watch and don't do anything about it. And now she's dead along with two young people who still had full lives ahead of them. One step closer to my own mortality and I'm not afraid—I'm angry. Angry at my foster parents for adopting me and forcing me into a life of plenty and taking me away from my people."

Haymitch didn't even have to ask him the question. What did Caesar want to do about it, now that he witnessed the Capitol's sadism firsthand?

"You keep going because the other option is to curl up and die on terms that aren't yours," said Caesar with a hardness to his voice now. "If you don't have control of your fate, at least you should be able to control when fate arrives. Those people who died today didn't have that option and I refuse to be so unlucky. I'm not going to let Death come for me when the Gamemakers call him and I'm not letting anyone else sit around and wait for him either."

Caesar set Kilo's head on the grass and started to stride off with purpose.

"Are you going on this righteous crusade now?" called Haymitch somewhat jokingly after him.

"No, I am, in fact, going to urinate because I happened to swallow a lot of saltwater today and I've been holding it. So since you're up, keep watch for a few moments," Caesar called back over his shoulder.

Haymitch almost laughed, but felt that he might be sick if he did, so he watched the unnaturally lit world around him while Caesar relieved himself and when the ex-host returned, the two sat in silence for a while, soaking in the beauty around them and enjoying nature, however bizarre for what could be the last time. When it came time to relieve Katniss for her shift, Haymitch noticed an unusual heat coming up through what had moments before been cool, damp earth.

With a hiss and a burst of steam, the ground beneath them opened up and Haymitch felt himself falling away…


	12. Chapter 12: So Goes the Other

Whatever he landed on absorbed the impact of his fall, but it didn't make it any less painful when someone landed on him. He heard a feminine grunt and saw Olathe's raven hair. Before he could even begin to push her off of him, he saw Caesar land just millimeters shy of Haymitch's face and then Stele was thrown on top of Caesar. Kilo landed last, flumping onto Stele's legs with a sound like someone being punched in the gut. There was a hole in the sky above them that suddenly closed up as if it had never existed.

A hot breeze rippled across his skin and he became aware that he could actually see now with a beating sun nearly blinding him after he had been so used to the glow of Tyrek's arena. A distant thundering told him that a storm was on the way.

"This was my arena," said Olathe, her voice trembling in recollection of what had occurred here. She used Haymitch to push herself up into sitting position, unaware of how she was touching him as she cradled her knees to her chest, hiding her face away from them.

"Give her some room," said Stele, shoving Kilo aside as he attempted to gain his feet and form a shield around Olathe from them, but then he seemed to think better of, realizing that none of the men around him would harm her and all knew that she was going into a mental relapse.

Olathe rubbed at her temples and gnashed her teeth together. She pounded at the top of her scalp as if beating the memories out of her head would help. Haymitch expected her to completely disappear into herself and for all of the progress she'd made in this Arena alone to be for naught and so he prepared for a long day ahead in which he and the others would have to stand guard around her as she rode out her relapse.

Kilo was the only one who had remained where he had fallen and now he crawled to Olathe, curling into a ball beside her and watching her for reaction. She peered out from under her hands when she sensed his presence and as her eyes stared down at him, this sickly man who almost seemed to be mocking her, she came to an understanding. Kilo knew the mentally disabled; he had associated with a woman who was technically brain dead for the last quarter of his life and yet he had stayed with her despite her damages. He knew how to operate around those whose minds took them elsewhere.

Rolling onto her side across from him, Olathe stared at him as if not quite seeing him, but seeing beyond him, _into_ him. She took hold of his sleeve and rolled it up to his elbow, revealing several jagged hash marks across his skin. He let her expose his self-mutilation, as she seemed to draw comfort from it, comfort in knowing that someone else had thought to end it all.

"When did you start doing that?" asked Stele.

"After Demi was confined to the asylum," said Kilo. "I turned to morphling right after that, but not before Snow sold me the first time. I was still desirable even after my body started to waste away so that I wasn't fully aware of who my clients were and I couldn't-they didn't let me...I didn't get to choose my clients."

In short, he had been raped. Taking morphling clouded his judgment and his memory, but he had to know what had been done to him while his mind was incapacitated. Coming out of his fits of obliviousness, he had to have felt the remnants of his clients on him. While others could choose who received the pleasures of their body, Kilo had no say, no memory, and yet he was choosing to share this knowledge with Olathe just to comfort her.

"I'm sorry," said Olathe, running her fingertips gently along the scarred flesh on Kilo's arm.

But not just for what had happened to him…for _why_ it had happened and _how_. Unlike Olathe, Kilo had had no one to protect him from being sold into Capitol prostitution. There was no one to act as a barrier between him and his clients once his mind had become frail, not like Olathe who had had Stele's protection.

"I wouldn't have let this happen to anyone else on account of me," said Kilo. "I knew going into my first dope-up that I would be putting myself at risk but I wasn't strong enough to care."

Olathe sat up and pulled Kilo to her, rocking him in place and though he looked more uncomfortable with this than he had at any point laying down beside her, he let her carry on for a time until as if struck by a sudden burning question, he told her, "You have to know."

"Know what?" asked Olathe in an almost-believable attempt at obliviousness.

"How soon after your Games did Snow think it was a good idea to sell you into prostitution?" asked Caesar, catching on to Kilo's question.

"Two months," said Stele, coming to her rescue as he always did. "He gave her two months after the last ceremony and when he invited her back to the Capitol to force that decision on her, I put myself in her place."

Shame. Haymitch saw shame on Olathe's face.

Stele saw it too and he stared at his knees. "I didn't need your permission to do that, nor do I regret it. It was my choice, I've told you countless times—"

"You shouldn't have had to," said Olathe brokenly. "No one should have, but you did and you gave up any chance at normalcy just for me and I can't even…I can't pay you back…or thank you…how I want to."

Whatever else Stele had expected her to say, it wasn't this. If anything, he looked—happy. Happy that she had admitted to him that she wanted him, but couldn't have him because of her trauma and her fear—and the Games.

He opened his hand, palm up, and she took it readily as if hoping that he would offer it to her. Just to know that their affection was mutual, even if they couldn't act upon it, was enough.

"That should be a spectacle for the crowd at home," observed Caesar. "If they can't have one set of star-crossed lovers, they'll settle for another."

Haymitch gave an inward groan. That comment from Caesar wasn't necessary, just an observation and one that he couldn't help making because of how many years he had spent commentating on such a thing, but as expected, Stele took it as a challenge and an insult and let go of Olathe to make a move at Caesar. Both Haymitch and Kilo stepped between the two, but Caesar told them to stand aside and let Stele through.

"That wasn't meant to be demeaning and I apologize if it came across that way. It's just hardwired into my brain to think about what sort of angle the Gamemakers might be trying to go for with you two since they have to cut out so much of what everyone says. Children don't need to be censored as much because besides the occasional swearword, they don't know what goes on behind the scenes but since this Game is made up of survivors who have seen it all and then some and talk about it freely, the Gamemakers must be having a field day trying to twist it into a cohesive form."

"I don't care what kind of story they're going for or what your opinion on the matter is. I can't stand anymore of your mouth running—"

"Because I can speak about all of this so numbly? Seeing death as it is and not as a glorified disappointment in betting odds doesn't have to make me an angry, short-tempered asshole. Your hatred isn't misplaced, but its intended target should not be me. You act like I pulled the names from the glass bowls and decreed that the Games become tradition. I literally had no control over how the Games ran."

"But you remember them."

"I remember every one."

"Then tell me who died during my Games that made me who I am."

"Your sister," said Caesar. "One of the rare instances where siblings entered the arena and only one came out. Neither of you had good odds going in. You both were too gentle, even at the end. You stuck with her for as long as you could but when the Careers found you, she pushed you off the ledge and made that ultimate sacrifice that ended up saving your life. Her last moments were spent watching you swim for shore. She never even looked at the Careers as they killed her. Winnow exhibited a love for her sibling that outshone the other unfortunate pairs that went into the arena and showed the Capitol that family bond can still outweigh the need for survival. Though Snow wasn't approving of it, many of the Career sponsors that year contributed to buying her an ornate coffin that I recall you declined to have her buried in."

This was one background story Haymitch didn't want to know about because it was Stele's business but he was rather impressed with Caesar's ability to remember details of a Game he wasn't even involved in.

"Do you remember her?" asked Stele quietly.

"I do remember," said Caesar. "I was introduced to Snow that year because my parents thought I had a future in show business. I watched the entirety of the Games from the studio, shadowing my predecessor. I saw the preparation process for the bodies to be returned back to the districts. I saw your sister as she lay at rest."

Stele swallowed and rubbed at his wrist where he had a small tattoo that had bled together over the years but was nevertheless obviously important to him. It seemed to pain him to ask the question, especially given who was going to answer him, but he asked all the same. "Were they gentle with her?"

"Yes. The Avoxes all handled the bodies, not Capitol people."

"Are you lying to me?"

"Why would I do that?"

"To hide the truth from me."

"I would call it protecting you from the truth if I were lying to you, but I'm not. Avoxes are given the chore of handling the dead because it is considered a chore by Capitol people. Dead tributes are no longer worth their time, so they give the task to people who are alive and also not worth their time. The Avoxes take great pride in handling the bodies because the fallen tributes were never given the option to continue living without their tongues. Winnow was given the gentlest care and showed the utmost respect for what she did for you and it may seem like too little, too late, but I think this is something you should have been told a long time ago since you obviously harbor this hatred for me as if I personally dishonored her body."

"It changes nothing. For as long as I have left in this arena, you and I will not be friends. There's too little time to mend too much for that to happen."

"Noted, but given the limited time we have left and also our limited allies now that we've been separated from the main group, perhaps you could refrain from pouncing on me every time I say some— _shit_!"

A sinkhole had opened up underneath Caesar's foot and even as he tried to free himself, it sucked him in further. Kilo and Olathe were closest and acted fast, taking hold of both of his arms and yanking him free so that the sinkhole gave an unpleasant, squelching _pop_.

"What in the hell is that?" demanded Caesar, though he seemed to be asking the Gamemakers themselves. "That's geographically incorrect and quite frankly, cheap."

Haymitch found it amusing that Caesar could get so worked up about the logistics of things even though he knew that the Gamemakers threw them these sorts of curveballs all the time. Katniss had exploding fireballs in the middle of her forest and to even have an underwater city that was capable of holding arena-sized ecosystems in single rooms was illogical but unlike Beetee, Haymitch didn't care how it worked.

"I think that's their way of telling us that we need to get moving and not stand around talking because our rest period is up," said Haymitch in what he hoped was a helpful tone but Caesar was still angry at the sky and turned that anger to Haymitch.

"I know what they're telling us and they can go shove it because opening up a pit of quicksand on the savannah just to send a message isn't going to make me move any faster. I'll start walking when I'm good and ready and not before and they can't open up the entire area into a sinkhole because that would make for poor television. So," he continued, glaring skyward, "If you're tired of hearing me talk, go ahead and send something else at me but this," he gestured at his mud-covered foot, "Is low and unimaginative."

In response, the Gamemakers made the ground underfoot start to soften.

"You had to say something, didn't you?" said Stele, taking Olathe's hand and starting to run. Haymitch grabbed Kilo, pushing him ahead, and then made Caesar follow, bringing up the rear as they attempted to outrun the giant sinkhole the Gamemakers had made just for Caesar. They didn't have to sprint, but if Haymitch took too much time lifting his foot in the next step of his running stride, he found that the ground was just soft enough to start to suck him down. He couldn't help but feel some animosity toward Caesar for calling the Gamemakers out on ruining their moment of rest because the whiplash-like quality of their rest periods and their moments of flight were starting to get to him. He couldn't properly rest because at any moment he could be awakened to the dangers of something coming for them.

The ground started to slope and they had to exercise caution to not roll their ankles as they tried to keep their pace but then everything beneath them suddenly dropped as if the entire arena floor was a panel held up on hinges and they all went plummeting, flying through the air one second and colliding with the ground as they rolled the next. The drop didn't last long, but when they landed, they were in the same arena, though the rocks and boulders were more plentiful in this area with a good source of water being nonexistent.

"Everyone okay?" asked Haymitch.

"I hurt…everywhere," answered Kilo and as he sat up, Haymitch saw that he had an alarming-looking gash on his forehead from the impact of hitting a small but nonetheless dangerous rock. Kilo touched a finger to the blood on his face and a knife stuck in the ground where his hand had been a second before.

A curved sword would have taken off Kilo's head if Olathe hadn't scrambled up over Caesar, using his stomach as a launching pad as she matched Enobaria's blade and pushed the woman away from Kilo. Stele stood up to assist her but he was met with his own enemy to deal with as a giant cat-like mutt sprang at him. It was several times the size of the normal mountain lions that inhabited the mountains surrounding the Capitol, but it had two sets of jaws with one set hiding just behind the other.

Stele fell flat on his back to avoid getting his stomach sliced open by the mutt but in doing so, he opened up his defenses for the giant paw to come down and pin him in place with his sword arm trapped. Olathe abandoned her fight with Enobaria to scale the creature's back and start to hack away at its head. Preoccupied with whatever rode its back, the mutt ignored the still highly edible piece of meat under its paw and started trying to swat at the pest stabbing its head.

Haymitch pulled Kilo away from the danger zone and ordered Caesar to watch him as he went to help Stele and Olathe, but Olathe had already dismounted the mutt and ran to where Enobaria was trying to sneak off unseen. She let out a scream that drew the mutt's attention and though Enobaria still tried to make a run for it, Olathe kept right alongside her so that the mutt couldn't miss them.

Stele wanted to scream for the woman he loved, but he knew the sacrifice she was making so that they could escape, so he slapped his hands over his mouth to stifle it. Caesar ran to him, took hold of both of his shoulders and pulled with urgency, instructing him without words to run, but he wouldn't budge. Without Olathe, he had no reason to keep going, just like Zelic and Amara who wouldn't go on without the other but Olathe was doing this for him and if he didn't take advantage of this opening she had given him, she was dying for nothing. Stele's legs wouldn't move; all of his energy went into keeping his scream from exiting his mouth.

Caesar shook Stele by the face and delivered a harsh slap to his cheek that went undetected as Olathe continued hollering at the mutt, running after Enobaria into the thicket of rocks. Haymitch saw Caesar's mouth form the words, _Run, you stupid bastard,_ and then he held out his hand to Stele, pleading with him.

Stele took Caesar's hand and let the latter pull him away. The four of them kept pace with one another, putting as much distance between themselves as the formidable mutt as they could, but when they heard a cannon, they all simultaneously stopped as if they had collided with an invisible barrier. It could have been Olathe, it could have been Enobaria, or there was a very slim chance that it could have been someone else. Still with a firm hold on Stele's hand, Caesar prepared to tug on him to keep him from going back but that decision was made for them by the sound of something enormous coming their way.

"Shit."

Haymitch searched about for somewhere to hide amongst the rocks: a crevice, a hole, anything. He spotted something that might work, if they all could fit, and they would just have to pray the cat-mutt couldn't reach its paw down there. He motioned for the others to follow him and checked that nothing was already living in the hole before jumping down the short distance. Their hiding place wasn't very wide or long so he had to stand back to let the others in. Caesar helped Kilo in first since he was smallest and was starting to get dizzy from the cut to his head. Haymitch caught him and had him sit down and immediately noticed a problem in that even if all four of them sat down, there wasn't enough room. Before he could mention this to Stele and Caesar, Stele dropped down beside him so that now there was no room for Caesar to sit on the ground beside them.

Lowering himself by his fingertips, Caesar wedged himself into a space above them, a tiny ledge that had just enough room for him to set the very back of his butt on but the rest of him dangled over with his legs in their faces. He pressed one foot against the opposite wall to help support himself and then put his palms to the same wall as his back. Glancing upward, he put a finger to his mouth.

Through the vibrations in the cleft wall, Haymitch could feel the mutt approaching and readied his knife just in case. He saw a shadow pass over them, blocking out the sun and heard the mutt licking at something in the dirt. It would make sense that the mutt could pick up their scent, but Haymitch was hoping that it was just like any normal animal that had better sense of smell than humans. But the mutt was insistently licking at whatever it had found and then Haymitch saw the papillae along its tongue licking at the wall above them, sending a small shower of dirt and gravel down on them.

Caesar gestured frantically at Kilo's head and Haymitch understood. He had no way of wrapping the injury to block off the scent of blood, so all he could do was make Kilo try to lay down to put him far out of reach of the mutt in case it decided to stick its paw down after them.

Of course it did.

The claws just barely fit inside and the mutt began to scratch at whatever it could, determined to find the source of blood. One of its nails hooked onto Caesar's belt and Caesar immediately dug his hands into smaller cracks in the wall to anchor himself, motioning for Haymitch to stay where he was. The mutt tried to lift its paw out but Caesar had fitted his hands down deep enough that he could hold himself in place but if the mutt wanted its paw to come free, no human strength was going to stop it. The simple solution would have been to take off the belt, but the claw was blocking the clip and none of them could reach it.

Stele stood up, grasping his sword pommel pointed up with both hands. He nodded to Caesar who turned his face away, braced, and closed his eyes. Driving the sword through the mutt's paw, Stele kept absolutely silent and the mutt recoiled, dragging Caesar upward with it. At the last possible second, Caesar managed to reach the clip and his belt opened, freeing him from the claw. He landed on Stele hard enough to give the latter a concussion and the belt followed. The mutt screeched overhead, but didn't try to reach back down to investigate what had injured it.

They waited, giving it time to wander off to lick its wounds and when it had been at least ten minutes without a sound of the thing, Haymitch volunteered to climb out first and double check. Nothing greeted him but rocky outcrops and parched earth in all directions. He still kept his voice down as he lay down on his stomach and held out his hand for Kilo first who needed some serious medical attention or a blood transfusion—or both. Caesar came next and his entire right side was caked in blood.

"Did it get you?" asked Haymitch in alarm, but after checking himself over, Caesar concluded that the blood wasn't his despite the alarming amount of it.

Last to come up was Stele and as he hauled himself out, the ground began to rumble. Fearing another drop into a different eco system, Haymitch made to grasp the fissure, but stopped when he saw it spewing out yellow gas straight up into Stele's face.

"Cover your mouths!" Haymitch called to the other two and they backed away, helpless to Stele who had gotten the full blast of it. Their ally stood coughing and spluttering, blinded by the gas explosion and Haymitch feared that they were about to hear another cannon and not be able to do a damn thing about it. Gradually, the gas cleared and Stele was still standing, but he wouldn't let them come closer until he was absolutely certain that they wouldn't inhale it.

Creeping forward on tenterhooks in case Stele dropped dead in front of them at any moment, they examined the crevice below and then turned their attention to him.

"What the hell was that?" asked Caesar. "A minute ago that thing was sealed solid and now all of a sudden it's a fissure that spews out toxic gas?"

"How do you know it's toxic?" asked Haymitch, though the hope in his voice was without conviction.

"It is," said Kilo, holding his head with one hand and pointing out orange speckles along Stele's face with the other. "I know what this is. We use it in Six to clear out old train compartments of pests to refurbish them. Depending on the dosage, it could kill within a few minutes or a few hours but since it's not normally tried out on humans, I can't say for sure how long…"

For a man who had just been told that even if he won the Games, he wouldn't survive, Stele was calm. For a man who didn't know if he had minutes, hours, or days left to live and could drop dead at any second without warning, Stele was calm. And it wasn't because he was so accepting of his fate; he had been fighting against death for himself and for Olathe since the beginning. He knew that he didn't have to make the decision now and that death would come for him all the same and take him to Olathe—if the cannon had been hers.

"Something's coming," said Caesar, facing the direction from which they had come. They saw her, not that she tried very hard to hide as she approached.

Enobaria.

Stele drew his sword in a direct challenge to Enobaria, reminiscent of the challenge she and her allies had given him when they threatened Olathe in the Training Center. And if Enobaria had been the one to kill Olathe, Stele would avenge that—and die.

"I've got her," said Stele. "I did my part, Haymitch, now do yours." He let the tip of his blade touch the dry, cracked ground at rest as he waited for Enobaria to make the first move in closing the distance. "Caesar, Kilo, get him back to Katniss if you can and get out of this eco system."

Haymitch had every intention of grabbing Stele's arm and making him flee alongside them or grabbing Stele to push him behind the group and fight Enobaria together, but Stele would fight him on either front. Even with his decision to accept Olathe's sacrifice and keep going for as long as he could, the gas he had inhaled was going to kill him anyway, so now all that remained was to choose how he was going to die: by choking to death from a toxin on the inside, or by fighting Olathe's killer.

"Go, Haymitch."

And like the coward he was, Haymitch ran. His lungs cursed him, his throat begged for water, and his heart gave him one last warning that it was going to give out as he abandoned his ally, his friend that could have been. He heard metal clashing on metal behind him, but instead of growing faint as he left the battle behind, the Gamemakers seemed to be making the sound louder just to taunt him. Eventually, he saw Kilo skid to a halt ahead and Caesar collided with him, deliberately falling where he stood to avoid sending both of them over a camouflaged ledge. Haymitch put his weight on his heels and managed to pull up short before sliding into them, but they didn't even have time to pick out where the ledge ended or to test it for a force field when they heard light, quick steps of crunching earth catching up to them and Haymitch knew before he looked who it would be.

She caught up to them far quicker than he could have anticipated. She had no blood on her teeth, but that was little comfort when Haymitch saw that most of it was on her knife. To her credit, she wasn't smiling, but she still had the sparkle of battle in her eyes after just surviving a deadly encounter but the lack of cannon meant that Stele was still alive, if only just and if the wounds Enobaria had inflicted on him didn't kill him first, the gas in his system would. She was outnumbered, but they were outmatched and there was no one left to match blades with her who had more experience than Haymitch. His time to show the audience that he was more than just a lucky drunk bastard who could evade death had come…and he was going to die.

Enobaria took another knife from her belt and hurtled it at Kilo where it stuck in his collarbone area. He went down and Enobaria drew a third knife, preparing to stick it in whoever went to Kilo's aid. Her plan was to occupy each of them with an injury so that they couldn't rush her, but Caesar took the initiative and rushed her anyway. Haymitch was two steps behind, swinging his sword back to deliver a blow that would lob Enobaria's head off. Caesar sprang at her, stabbing out at her midsection and then having to retreat as she tried to do the same to him. He used Haymitch as cover and Haymitch swung, missing her by a mile but still keeping her at bay and as he brought his sword back around, Caesar darted in again. They pressed her back, keeping her knives occupied so that she couldn't run, but they had nowhere to back her into and they couldn't keep this up forever.

Enobaria saw an opening in their attack and used it, swiping out with one knife to cut her way through them. The tip just sliced across the back of Caesar's neck but he was already wheeling around to come at her again. She, however, was ready for him and kicked him in the groin, then the stomach. Gagging on the effect her double-attack had, Caesar faltered and Enobaria seized her change to take a running leap at Haymitch and tackle him. His back made contact with one of the boulders and both of his arms went up level with his eyes to block whatever attack was coming.

Searing pain through his forearm told him that he'd just been stabbed and he yelped as he felt metal coursing through his body. Enobaria pinned his left forearm to the rock with one knife, then, as he attempted to punch her with his right, she skewered that one as well so that he was completely immobile, partially crucified in his upper body. He roared at the tribute from District 2, hating her for hurting him like this, but she didn't finish it because Caesar didn't give her that chance.

In the same move that had saved Haymitch from Cashmere, Caesar wrapped both of his arms around Enobaria's waist, lifting her away from Haymitch, and then throwing her bodily over his shoulder. She landed catlike and came right back at him, clawing her way onto his back. She held onto either side of his face, wrenching his head sideways to expose his neck so that she could bite into his jugular. Caesar slapped his hand over the exposed flesh and Enobaria bit into his knuckles instead. He shrieked, but his quick thinking had saved his life and he was able to throw her off, nursing his bleeding hand and Haymitch could see that Enobaria had bitten down to the bone. She licked blood from her lips and flashed him an almost-impressed grin.

"I never would have bet on these odds," said told Caesar.

Haymitch pressed his forearm forward, pushing against the hilt and screaming as the blade went deeper into his skin. He pulled his right arm free and with the blade still impaling him, he grabbed the second, yanked it out of both the ground and his arm, and threw it where it went through the back of Enobaria's thigh. She fell forward and Haymitch pounced on her, trapping her head between his arms so that his blood stained her hair and her forehead. He gave one almighty wrench and snapped her neck, hearing the concluding cannon sound just after.

On all fours, both he had Caesar considered who was worse off for the wear. Neither of them could go very far in their condition, and then there was Kilo to consider who was still down for the count several yards away. They needed a quick fix, even if it wasn't a permanent one. Just something to help them keep going and get out of this arena-within-an-arena.

The soft beeping that accompanied the parachute that glided down toward them might as well have been accompanied by a chorus of angels singing, for it had the same effect. It landed between Haymitch and Caesar but neither of them cared who specifically it was for. Haymitch reached for it, but his tendons had been damaged by Enobaria's knives and he couldn't grasp the pod very well. The task was left to Caesar who unscrewed the lid and read aloud the card within.

"Works on most things. Use it to get back to her. –Peeta."

Inside the pod was some sort of cream, slightly translucent and odd-smelling, but a direct gift from Peeta meant that they were coming down to it and that Haymitch needed to be in peak fighting condition. The container of cream wasn't very large, but it had enough for Haymitch to tend to his arms, if he could just administer the salve himself. Caesar dipped his fingertips into the cream and worked it into the damaged, bleeding skin from the entry and exit wounds of Enobaria's knives. They would most likely stop bleeding, but with nerve damage, Haymitch needed a Capitol doctor or the salve wouldn't be of much use to him.

"Go use the rest on Kilo," Haymitch instructed. He waited for something to happen as Caesar took the container to Kilo and treated both his head injury and the knife wound. Kilo shouted out when Caesar removed the dagger.

"If you can stand, we need to get moving because we can't wait around for this to actually work," called Caesar and Haymitch agreed, but went about it with much grumbling. He didn't take the two knives Enobaria had stabbed him with; he didn't want them anywhere near him. He just kept walking away from her body to where Caesar was helping Kilo stand and then they faced what they knew was the cliffside without a clue as to what to do next.

Going back wasn't an option. They needed water and shelter from the blistering sun and in their condition, they wouldn't last much longer. As if in answer to their unasked prayer, a hole in the very fabric of the air opened up, revealing what looked like another world beyond and though Haymitch trusted this hovering hole about as much as the doors that sealed off the death compartments in the underwater city, he had no choice but to take it. On the other side, a heavy downpour greeted them but didn't completely obscure the faces in the sky as the anthem played, though most of it was drowned out by thunder. The rocky arena vanished behind them, revealing a mountainous wilderness caught in the middle of a rainstorm.

Haymitch suddenly wasn't so sure that he was in full awareness of himself. How long had it been since the last anthem played? Was Crescere's face really the last one he had seen in the sky? Had it only been _one day_ in which he had lost so many friends? How could the adrenaline, grief, horror, and fatigue of a lifetime only have been inside of twenty-four hours? The thought made him want to throw up that his body was ready to shut down on him after only two days of fighting in this maddening arena.

Enobaria came first despite being the last death of the day, continuing the tradition of showing the tributes in order of their district, not the order in which they had died. Next was Mags and then Finnick. Then Amara.

It didn't make sense to Haymitch. He had been awake nearly this entire time and the others hadn't mentioned any cannon that he had slept through or somehow missed. It was possible that the cannon had been drowned out by the noise of battle but it was the loudest thing in the entire arena besides the anthem itself so that the tributes could keep track of it. _How_ could they have missed one? And what's more, what had happened in Haymitch's absence to the rest of the group? If Amara hadn't made it, there was a very real possibility that Katniss hadn't either and that awful feeling of not knowing made Haymitch throw up a bit in his mouth.

Johanna's face came next which told them that Zelic was still alive even though he and Amara had made that promise to Haymitch that they would only help keep Katniss alive so long as both of them were together. If one died, the other followed without hesitation so for Zelic's face to not be up there with his wife's told Haymitch that some _one_ had killed her and that Zelic was waiting to off himself to avenge his wife's killer.

Ramie, Tyrek, Enid, and finally, Farrow, and the anthem ended, dousing them in darkness.

"What the hell?" asked Caesar quietly.

"The cannon after we left Olathe," said Kilo. "It had to be Amara's."

And if that cannon had been Amara's, her killer had to have been Brutus or Gloss because Enobaria was occupied with Olathe—who was still alive somewhere in the sub-arena that had just closed off to them, leaving them no way to get back to her if she was wounded. The same went for Stele who Enobaria hadn't managed to kill yet even though it had been just minutes ago. _Minutes ago_. So close to midnight meant that he had just missed the kill tally for the day. But he was still going to die, even if Enobaria hadn't wounded him as severely as she thought. If she was in any position to move, Olathe would see that Stele was still alive and maybe, just maybe, she would find him before the gas and wounds took over.

Not accounting for Stele already being on his way out, there were only ten of them left after just forty-eight hours in the arena: Haymitch, Katniss, Kilo, August, Zelic, Beetee, Brutus, Gloss, Olathe, and Caesar. Two Careers, a handful of surprises, the Girl on Fire, and a Capitol citizen, just ten, and Plutarch had promised more survivors than that.

A cannon.

Caesar sat down underneath a tree canopy, still soaked, but out of the rain as he hung his head. "That was Stele."

"How do you-?"

"Because enough of you died already yesterday and the Gamemakers wouldn't willingly let someone be killed right after the anthem. As unpopular as these Games are, Snow can't burn through you all too quickly or the people will complain. Nine people should be more than enough to appease them all for a few hours, maybe even a day. But make no mistake; that was Stele, and he held on to try and buy you all some time, some rest before the audience demands bloodshed again."

Tilting his head back to take in some rain water, Kilo took a seat next to Caesar and promptly passed out, too exhausted to try and stay awake to process his grief any further. Haymitch plopped down in the grass opposite Caesar but still under the tree's protection.

"I'll keep watch for a while and wake you up when it's your turn," said Caesar.

"If things are like you say and the Gamemakers are going to give us some respite, then we don't have to keep watch," Haymitch pointed out.

"There's still wildlife out here—"

"And that wildlife is still a manifestation of the arena, which the Gamemakers can control. They'll let us sleep. So sleep, Caesar."

Laying down in soggy earth was by no means comfortable, but Haymitch was past caring. He lifted his head just enough to say, "Oh, and Caesar, it's 'us', by the way. Enough of _us_ have died," and then took a leaf from Kilo's book and let sleep knock him out cold.


	13. Chapter 13: Fear of Failure

Caesar never did wake him up for his watch, nor apparently did he ever go to sleep, for when Haymitch awoke and it was still raining in the hour or two past dawn, Caesar was watching rain water drip from the drooping leaves of the canopy, knees to his chest with arms hanging over. There were heavy circles under his eyes and he looked pale in the gloom.

Kilo was still asleep and most of the blood had washed away from his face, throwing his forehead wound in clearer light and Haymitch saw that Peeta's gift had worked wonders, almost completely sealing the cut as if it had never been there. Checking his own wounds, he was pleased to see that all four holes had closed, but an experimental flex of his fingers revealed that there was still internal damage.

"There's breakfast, if you're hungry," said Caesar once he saw that Haymitch was awake. He handed Haymitch another pod that had dried meat strips and a loaf of bread within. A piece had been torn off of the loaf but also put back.

"Did you-?"

"I tried to eat, but I threw up," said Caesar." He showed Haymitch a small hole he had dug to hide the vomit and then handed him the accompanying letter to the food.

"12," said Haymitch. He wasn't ungrateful, but what business did Twelve have sending him food when Katniss should be getting all of their support? Unless she had access to food already. And quite frankly, with August, Zelic, and Beetee supporting her, she was most likely better off than he was at the moment. So he ate and didn't let himself feel guilty about it because he needed this. He ate only a third of everything so that Caesar still had the option to sample some if his stomach settled later on.

Caesar cupped his hands underneath the tree to collect some rain, and took a sip, holding the water in his mouth as he fished out another portion of his pill and popped it back. He now had one fourth left and Haymitch didn't want to think what would happen after he ran out.

Then, the arrival of another parachute made Haymitch almost ecstatic, because for any tribute traveling in a party to receive more than one gift in such a short amount of time, it was a very rare thing indeed. The pod came to a rest in the low-hanging branches above Caesar and he reached up with uncertainty to take it.

It was a pack of cigarettes, not the expensive ones from the Capitol which had varying flavors and shapes that emitted from the smoke, but the plain, dirty, nicotine-filled slugs that Haymitch had tried once or twice in his lifetime. In these special Games, adults were the contestants and therefore, deserving of such luxurious items—if they could get their hands on them. And if cigarettes were allowed, there was a very good chance alcohol was as well, though Haymitch wasn't going to hold out hope.

Caesar, however, gave a hearty laugh as he stared at his gift in the pod and looked toward the overcast sky, grinning with a trace of his familiar plastic smile, though with a natural pull of his facial muscles instead of a strain on them.

"Someone watching knows my dirty habit of going through half a pack of these a day," said Caesar, ripping open the package. "And whoever they are, either they think I've earned this, think I'm in for a long wait, or know I'm about to die, so it's one of the last comforts I'll have. And you'd think I could afford to buy the kind we sell in the Capitol—which I could have—but I preferred the raw, filthy aspect of these. It made me feel—less restrained."

He dumped a slug into his hand, tapped the end that went into his mouth on the back of his palm, and then struck the accompanying match against the floor. Cupping the match so as to not let it burn out, he placed it to the tip of the cigarette which was now clenched between his teeth. There was an odd fascination to be found there, in watching him go through the movements with such precision and confidence, both of which Caesar lacked in nearly everything he had done in this arena. But this, smoking and relishing the five or six minutes of unencumbered nothingness that followed, was something Caesar knew well.

Drawing on the end to give the cigarette the needed oxygen, he managed to coax the glowing end to life and inhaled deeply before closing his mouth and pushing the smoke out through his nose. Somehow, Haymitch couldn't picture him in one of his colorful wigs and sparkling suits doing this exact thing, perhaps on the back terrace of his luxurious apartment. But this man, stripped of all Capitol influences, belonged with that stick of rolled up smoke in his mouth. It was a secret part of him that no one had seen before, and it made him fit right in with the remaining tributes.

Still, when food and protection and in Caesar's case, medication were more important than anything else, cigarettes seemed like a waste of both his sponsor's money and Caesar's life.

They stayed in their makeshift camp for a few more hours, drinking their fill and waiting for Kilo but their companion was dead to the world and wouldn't be waking on his own anytime soon so once the rain started to come down heavier, Haymitch decided that they needed to be moving on in case of floods or mudslides. He had a moment of panic when Kilo didn't come immediately awake upon being roused, but it turned out that Kilo was just a very deep sleeper. He accepted his share of the bread, but wouldn't touch the meat, so Haymitch ate his portion as well as Caesar's since Caesar still couldn't stomach anything other than water.

It made sense to look for better shelter, but Haymitch wanted out of these sub-arenas. He never thought he would miss the endless metallic walls with no windows or links to the outside world, but he needed to stop getting lost before he could start looking for something that was almost impossible to find. They walked in silence, each in his own thoughts but Haymitch glanced back at them every so often just to make sure they were still there, for Caesar had gone quiet after his second cigarette and Kilo hadn't said a word since they woke him.

As much as Haymitch had griped about not having enough time to collect his thoughts and just rest, he was even starting to get bored with the proceedings. He wanted to be back at the Cornucopia, he wanted to find Katniss and for something other than this rain to happen.

"There," said Caesar, rousing him from his wistful thinking. Ahead of them, carved into the mountainside was a set of metallic doors and that was as good of a sign as any that the arena opened back up into the metal city. It was a steep uphill climb through the mud and weeds, but they made it, and when the doors opened for them, they saw not the dimness of the underwater city but an enormous city of stone pillars, obelisks, and pyramids. It was bone-dry with sand billowing in small cyclones around them. It looked like Brutus's arena and only then did Haymitch make the connection that Olathe stumbling into her own arena wasn't a coincidence. The mountainside arena had been Kilo's, the rocky wasteland Olathe's, the glowing nightland Tyrek's, and the Gamemakers had put each of the contributing tributes' own personal arenas inside this one. That meant that somewhere, the deadly paradise valley of Haymitch's first Games was here somewhere and he had no desire to revisit it.

"Dammit," he cursed, and fell into a rhythmic marching, pounding the sand with each step as if it had done him a personal wrong.

"Haymitch, wait," called Caesar, and Haymitch saw that Kilo remained where he was, head hanging in defeat.

"Kilo, if you're not gonna walk, I'll carry you," said Haymitch pressingly.

There was no response from his friend, just a blank, dead stare. The shadows the pillars cast across his face made him look gaunt, like he had reverted to his morphling ways and was just a husk of the human he had become within the arena. If Haymitch hadn't seen his chest moving ever so slightly, he would assume Kilo was dead.

"Hey, this isn't the time or place, we need to go now."

"I don't think he's coming," said Caesar quietly. "I think he's gone."

"Don't be stupid. He knows what's happening right now."

"That's the point. He knows, and he's done."

"I don't care; he doesn't get to do that when we've all made sacrifices to help him get this far. He's going to make it even if I have to drag his ass the rest of the way to—"

The door from which they had just come started to open again and Haymitch made a dive for the nearest cover, joined moments later by Caesar. Kilo hadn't moved, facing the door with his arms at ease. Haymitch dodged out to grab him; there was still time…

Caesar flattened Haymitch against the column with a motion to be silent and they heard two hurried sets of heavy footfalls come to a sudden halt nearby.

"Well, I can say with certainty that we weren't expecting you," said Gloss's voice. "We heard voices. Who were you talking to?"

"It echoes here," said Kilo simply.

"Did you kill Enobaria?" asked Brutus. That certainly wasn't a pressing question for someone who was dead and gone, no longer a threat or valid to the Games at hand, but it seemed important for Brutus to know. Even if his brief fling with Enobaria had only been one-sided, he certainly didn't feel that way and he was obviously aching for her in wake of her death.

"That's giving him way too much credit," said Gloss scathingly. "Look at him; he's a hundred pounds of dead weight and he couldn't swing a sword if he tried. It had to have been Stele or Haymitch."

"No, I didn't," said Kilo. "But I killed Ramie."

"Yeah, well, that wasn't a big loss to begin with, not after what she wanted to do with Flickerman," said Brutus. "But you're still here with what, ten of us left? You, the morphling addict who almost no one was betting on. The only people who had lower bets than you were the old women and your girl Demi, but there's fifteen already dead and you're still breathing. You should have been one of the first to go, but you made it this far with only two Careers left in an arena designed to kill us all off as quickly as possible. I don't know what that says about you." Brutus didn't sound vengeful or cruel, just confused.

"It doesn't say anything," said Kilo without emotion. "It's just how it happened. Now finish it."

"He can't be alone," said Gloss. "Someone had to have helped him get this far and they're just hiding."

"Then we'll get to them in a minute."

"Haymitch, don't," warned Caesar when Haymitch made to round the column and take the Careers by surprise. "We can't take them. Kilo knew that."

"You don't understand how hard this is. You don't know him like I do," Haymitch snapped, knowing that it was an awful thing to say after he had constantly reminded Caesar that he was one of them now. What a hypocrite he must look like, preaching how Caesar was their ally despite where he came from and now telling him that he had no right saying anything to stop Haymitch because Kilo was not his friend.

"If you go out there, Kilo is going to die for nothing because you were too stupid and stubborn to let him go when it was his time. He wants this, or can't you tell when an addict has had enough?"

Of course Haymitch knew that Kilo was done and had been since the first day when Farrow dealt Demi the mortal blow. Kilo had started shutting down, and not from lack of morphling. He simply gave up and let his body take him to the brim with just enough sense and strength to let Haymitch make a run for it in choosing to stall the Careers. If they hadn't appeared at this exact moment, he probably would have just sat down and died on his own or thrown himself against the force field because there was nothing left in him. Kilo had died the night before when he fell asleep and the thing that they woke up this morning was an empty shell. But Haymitch had overcome his own addiction and come back stronger and still had fight left in him, so he couldn't let a fellow addict give in.

But that wasn't his choice to make and Caesar understood that where Haymitch didn't.

He looked away and ran, churning up sand as he followed Caesar. Their retreat alerted Brutus and Gloss to their location, but they didn't look back, running for the archway that had one of the underwater city's metallic doors. It was a heaven-send to have another entrance to the sub-arena so close to the one they had come through instead of searching hours to find it, though that might have been the Gamemakers creating one just to make things interesting. Caesar reached it first, slamming the activation pad to open the doors and once they had gone through, he took his sword and hacked away at the interior controls which short-circuited, closing down the door so that no one could get through without physically prying it open. At the same time that the door sealed, Kilo's cannon sounded.

"That won't hold the likes of Brutus for long," he said and they kept going, not bothering to mark their way and not daring to speak about the companion they had just lost. It had been more suicide than sacrifice, selfish and unpredictable because even with his setbacks, Haymitch thought he had seen Kilo improving, but it just showed that everyone was a talented liar.

Haymitch didn't say anything to Caesar as they went, upset with himself for how he had handled that situation back there but if Caesar was angry with him, he gave no indication. They opened a door that led into a blizzard sub-arena, promptly glanced at each other, and turned back around to take a different approach because going into an icy arena in just their wetsuits would do them as much good as sitting down and waiting for Gloss and Brutus to catch up with them. The further they went, the slower they moved until it was almost a glacial pace that they were traveling, now listening more for signs of being followed.

"We took enough turns to throw them off; we should be okay," said Caesar. "Now it's just a matter of finding the Cornucopia because it's the one place everyone knows to come back to and wait for us or have us wait for them."

"Yeah, but we've come across five different sub-arenas without running into them which tells you how big this place really is and we don't even know where to go from here because nothing is familiar-looking."

"That's the spirit."

"I'm serious—"

"So am I. We'll find it, and even if we can't, the Gamemakers will lead us there."

The siren that Haymitch had not missed at all began anew and after realizing that they had stopped inside one of the death compartments, he located the nearest exit and prodded Caesar with his sword hilt to get him moving.

"The door, go!"

Haymitch plowed over a vent that expelled white steam up into his face, but he kept going, only to realize that he was now in front and somehow, Caesar was behind him, though Haymitch could have sworn that the opposite was true. The door was sliding closed and Caesar was too far away. He pushed Haymitch through so that Haymitch's heels just cleared the ridging before the door sealed shut. Scrambling to his feet, Haymitch pounded on the glass window that enabled him to see Caesar within, watching the walls for whatever torture was to come.

"Can you open the door from your side?" Haymitch shouted at him, not knowing if the glass was too thick for sound to penetrate. "Is there a latch or a pressure pad, anything at all?"

Without looking back around to face him, Caesar placed his hand against the glass. "Keep going, Haymitch," he said forebodingly. "Go now, before it happens."

"Stand back, I'm going to try and break the glass—"

"No!"

Caesar turned his head in Haymitch's direction. "If it's a gas chamber, it'll leak out and you might inhale it. Whatever happens, you make sure that glass stays intact. Get back to the Cornucopia."

Haymitch didn't know why he couldn't move, petrified as he watched Caesar calmly accepting his imminent death. Whatever was in store for him, it was far worse than anything a tribute could do to him, and though Haymitch knew he should be thankful that he need no longer worry about how he was going to kill Caesar when the time came, he was desperate to save him. The man deserved to die in the company of a human, of a friend after all he had done for them.

"Cover your eyes," Haymitch instructed, raising the pommel of his sword.

"Don't. I'm begging you, Haymitch, don't break the glass. I'm not letting you put the lives of everyone else in jeopardy just to save me. I did what I set out to do; your path is clear from here."

A warning blare sounded from Caesar's end and the yellow lights flashed red. The door opposite Caesar opened and a shadow drifted in, human-like, but devoid of distinguishable features. Pressing his back to the door, Caesar watched the figure come closer, but then it stopped in the middle of the room, spread its arms, and Caesar screamed. Not knowing what it was doing to him was making Haymitch go mad.

"Caesar!"

Blinking furiously, Caesar returned to the window and rested his hand once again upon the smooth glass. There was blood dribbling down from each of his nostrils. "It's okay. It'll be okay."

Haymitch struck the glass with his sword, but it made no crack. He hammered the pommel into the window to no result as Caesar regarded him with an eerie sense of acceptance.

"Haymitch, stop, look at me. Look at me!"

The figure was approaching again and as it came nearer, blood began to seep out of Caesar's ears as well. He patted the glass in as close of a gesture of comfort as he could muster without being able to physically touch Haymitch. He was about to die and he was dedicating his last moments into calming Haymitch enough to make him run.

"I'm going to be just fine, do you hear me? Now, go. Don't watch."

The tears were hot and salty on Haymitch's face but he couldn't stop them coming any more than he could comprehend why they were present to begin with. Was he grieving for all those people he had lost already and seeing Caesar die was a reminder of how he had done nothing to save any of them? Did he weep for Caesar himself even if a small, insubstantial part of him believed that Caesar couldn't have made it anyway, that it was his destiny to die in here? He didn't know, he never would. And Caesar's face mirrored his, except there was blood mingling with his tears. The figure behind him was close to engulfing him now.

"It's going to be okay. Thank you, for everything."

His head made contact with the window as if it had been rammed with a force from behind. Then he was rising, being lifted by the grip the figure had on him. Haymitch heard himself screaming as Caesar rose like some sick, twisted version of an angel before him, watching him in resignation.

"Look away, Haymitch!"

The figure slammed Caesar against the door again and a gash opened across Caesar's forehead. In a final attempt to save Haymitch from watching his demise, Caesar wiped the blood from his face and smeared it over the window as liberally as he could so that the last Haymitch saw of him was his heavily concentrated face.

"Caesar!"

The thick coating of red across the surface of the glass made it impossible for Haymitch to see him, but the screams rose to a decimal that made his eardrums vibrate and teeter on the edge of shattering. He clapped his hands over his ears, sinking down against the door as he felt the tremor of a body being thrown against it from the other side. Squeezing his eyes shut, he brought his knees up to his chest, rocking back and forth in a vain attempt to rid himself of the waking nightmare.

Whenever he had been faced with such vivid horrors before, his way of coping had been to throw something, to shout and curse whilst wreaking havoc on everything within reach. But he couldn't get up now. He made himself as small as possible, feeling the walls of relapse closing in on him, finding their way into his system.

"Haymitch!"

Amazingly, Caesar was still alive, calling to him in his last moments, his voice sounding completely clear as if Caesar stood beside him instead of on the other side of the metal door. At this point, hearing his voice was agonizing and Haymitch prayed for it to be over, for the cannon announcing Caesar Flickerman's death to sound. There were hands on his wrists, shaking him, urging him to stand, and he was ashamed for Katniss to find him like this, because he knew it was her, returning to escort him above where they would face the Careers together, for the last time.

"Look at me!"

He wrenched his eyes open and found Caesar grasping his wrists, trying to haul him to his feet. There was no blood on his face. In fact, with a quick glance around, Haymitch found that the door that had separated them was behind Caesar and that Haymitch lay in the middle of the trap room, curled into the fetal position atop one of the vents. A hard slap to his face brought him into full awareness of himself.

"You have to stand up now, do you understand? The Careers will have heard you screaming and they'll be coming this way, so we have to move!"

His screaming. They'd heard _his_ screaming? The events of the last five minutes were not piecing together in Haymitch's head, but Caesar was tugging at his arms with such urgency that he decided to forgo logic and explanation for the moment, if only to appease him. His legs worked just fine, even if his head was groggy as if he was suffering through a monumental hangover. He let Caesar lead because he couldn't make headway of anything just now, still mentally stuck on the floor, listening to the shadow demon torture and kill Caesar inside the death compartment.

His mind drifted and when he finally came back to assess himself, he found that Caesar had miraculously brought them back to the Cornucopia and Haymitch had no idea how long it had taken, how long he had been mentally absent. He knew that the responsible thing was to search the cavern inside and out for any hidden enemies, but Caesar took over that chore as well, leaving him to sift through the few supplies that hadn't washed away when the Gamemakers had flooded the cavern. There was a waterproof box with some fruit, canteens, gauze, and a flashlight in it but almost everything else had been damaged by the water.

"It's clear," said Caesar after a time. "Come sit down so I can have a look at you."

"What for, I'm not hurt," said Haymitch.

"Not physically, no, but I need to test you for signs of shock. Come on, pop a squat."

Haymitch took a seat up against the front of the Cornucopia like a model patient with his hands in his lap. He knew what Caesar was going to find and was in no mood to be told that he had just suffered something mentally traumatic, but it was better to get it over with.

Caesar shined the flashlight into Haymitch's eyes, pulling down on the eyelids to see properly as he examined the pupils and their response to the light. Then he sat back on his heels, level with Haymitch, and asked, "Do you remember what happened?"

Trying to pull the images of that trap room back into focus, Haymitch screwed up his face in concentration. "The—the door was closing and I pushed you ahead, but then…then you were behind me and it closed and you were trapped inside. And the Gamemakers released something into the room with you and you were bleeding. You were dead. I saw it and I heard it."

"Do you want to feel my pulse to double check on that before you place some wages?" asked Caesar nonchalantly, but Haymitch didn't find any humor in the situation at all and grabbed a fistful of Caesar's wetsuit in a state of incomprehensive rage.

"I know what I fucking saw, damn you, so don't you sit there and mock me!"

At the first hint of Haymitch's fury, Caesar had thrown up his hands in surrender, but now he was speaking slowly as if Haymitch had suffered brain damage. "You didn't see it. You imagined it. You had it right the first time; I was ahead of you and you pushed me through, then the door closed and sealed you inside. I tried to break it open, but it was no use and I had to wait the full half hour before it would open again. The whole time, you were lying on the floor twitching and I couldn't see what was affecting you, but I've hosted these Games long enough to know that it was a hallucinogen, and a highly interactive one at that. You were drugged, tricked into thinking that I'd pushed you out first, but whatever you saw, it wasn't real, only a manifestation of your own imagination, aided by the chemicals in that hallucinogen. Toward the end of the half hour, you started screaming, and that's when the door finally opened and I went to try to rouse you. I promise you that nothing you saw was real, Haymitch."

 _Oh, but how real it was._ How real it had _felt_.

He had to keep giving Caesar side glances just to make sure that there was no blood on his face. Since Caesar didn't appear convinced that Haymitch had his wits about him, he sat down opposite Haymitch, inviting him to tell him exactly what had happened. It didn't help to tell him, but since he could describe it in such vivid detail, Caesar got the message that the hallucinogen was still in Haymitch's system and causing him to doubt reality.

When he had finished, Caesar had a twisted look to his face like he was trying hard not to either roll his eyes or grimace. Neither sat very well with Haymitch.

"If you're going to make jokes at my expense—"

"I'm not, honestly, but you need to separate that vision from what's happening now. I'm alive and I'm certainly not in a sacrificial mood today, so try to forget it."

Haymitch said nothing in response. The Caesar that he had hallucinated was definitely feeling sacrificial, but that man was not the same one who stood before him now and it was unfair to compare the two. What Caesar had just said was the most out-of-character and insensitive thing he had said since coming into the arena, giving Haymitch every indication to doubt his words.

"Where are you going?" asked Haymitch as Caesar rose.

"To take a leak. Is that fine with you?"

Noting Caesar's change in temperament, Haymitch shrugged, wondering if he should have just kept his mouth shut and not told Caesar what he saw inside the death compartment.

"I'm okay, Haymitch, so get that image out of your head."

Only, he was far from okay, as Haymitch went to investigate ten minutes later why he was taking so long to urinate, he found him on his knees vomiting everything from his stomach and then some since he only had water in his system after not eating for a day.

"It's catching up to me," he said. "Stele was right, that seeing death up close with people you know makes it a hundred times worse. Oh, God…" He heaved again and the splatter his vomit made gave Haymitch's own stomach a roll. Wiping the back of his wrist over the sweat prickling out across his forehead, Caesar collapsed against the Cornucopia wall, trying not to sit in his own sick.

"I know this is probably a bad time to bring this up, but we should have a vantage point if Gloss and Brutus are the first two to come back, so you need to stand up," said Haymitch apologetically. He cupped his hands together to make a foothold for Caesar who stepped into them and waited for Haymitch to hoist him upward onto the lowest ledge. Haymitch was a bit too enthusiastic with his hoisting and ended up throwing Caesar bodily into the wall, but at least he made it onto the ledge. He then reached over the side to help Haymitch up and the two of them scaled the rest of the Cornucopia to the flattened top that overlooked all of the entrances to the cavern.

Haymitch snacked on the apple he had found but Caesar opened his waterproof suit compartment and took out his pack of cigarettes.

"You aren't seriously going to smoke right now, are you?"

"Why, did you have something better to do?"

"How many years have you been on those things?"

"I'm not _on_ them."

"How many?"

"Are you considering when I tried my first one or when I started smoking half a pack a day? Because those are two very different periods in time." Haymitch wanted to know about both and Caesar humored him. "Fine, I tried my first at the orphanage when I was six and started up around the time of the 45th Hunger Games."

"That was the year you started hosting, right?"

"Your point?"

So Caesar did have an addiction that he had turned to to deal with being host to the slaughter of children. As Kilo had taken to morphling and Haymitch had immersed himself in the bottle, Caesar took up smoking. That, just like Caesar's original roots from District 7, was what made him one of them. He never had to go in the Games, but he had to act like he enjoyed them and sell it each and every time he was on camera or risk Snow's displeasure and he had willingly let Snow see it this final time because he couldn't take it anymore. He belonged here with the other tributes and so he deserved the right to smoke as much as he wanted if it helped with the pain.

He burned through three slugs before Haymitch advised that he try to ration them but the logic there was that now that they had arrived at the Cornucopia, the finale would be soon to follow so Caesar wouldn't have use for his cigarettes in another few hours because he'd be dead. He offered one to Haymitch, but Haymitch didn't want ash to be the last thing he tasted on his tongue and when he pointed that out to Caesar, the latter laughed.

"I'm regretting the many opportunities I had to speak to you outside of the arena more and more. You and I have so much in common and even more not in common, but you have interesting views on those things and I love a good debate and playful banter."

"You know, we might have been friends if you'd never come to the Capitol."

"No, I don't think we would have. I think my name would have been reaped and I would have died. I won't say that having my parents killed in the derailing was the best thing to happen to me in being the gateway to the series of events that led me here, but I can't think of any other substantial event that comes close. Things just happened the way they did, we ended up where we are and that's that."

"That's awfully pessimistic of a thing to say from an optimistic man like you."

"I'm a realist, actually. You have to be to keep that false positive attitude around every single tribute you send out here, make every single one think they have what it takes to survive. You lie to make other people feel better about themselves."

"That's what you did in my hallucination," said Haymitch boldly. He needed to know if Caesar thought differently of him now because of what Haymitch had seen in that room or if he was just having a hard time understanding it. "You have knowledge of these kinds of things, watching the Games all these years and seeing the special surprises in store for the tributes. The hallucinogen was meant to target the area of the brain related to fear, right?"

"Most likely," said Caesar carefully.

"Then it makes sense, what I saw or thought I saw. My biggest fear is failure, in whatever form it might take, so I saw myself failing to protect you and essentially, failing to protect Katniss."

Caesar seemed pleased with this explanation and it wasn't entirely false because Haymitch knew he wasn't afraid to watch Caesar die; he was afraid of not being able to do anything about it while it was happening. Uselessness was his weakness after being useless for so long to all of those children he had failed in twenty-five years. Katniss could not be his failure. The tributes from District 12 of the 73rd Hunger Games were supposed to be his last, but it was Johanna, it was Mags, it was Finnick and everyone else who had died in this arena who were to be his last failures and Katniss couldn't, _wouldn't_ be an addition to that list.

And if he was honest with himself, he didn't want Caesar on that list either. He had made that decision to let Caesar join them as an ally and it had saved them many times even if it meant that some of them were saved just to die later. Caesar had helped them have the success that they had in these Games and now that he was in the final ten, he would have been a contender for survival if Plutarch's plan had actually been real and not just a waste of Haymitch's time and sanity.

No, keeping both Katniss and Caesar alive wasn't possible because Snow wanted both of them dead more than any other tributes besides himself probably. Snow would be fine with anyone else emerging victor, but the Games had been designed specifically to punish Katniss and Caesar had been thrown in for supporting her, so Snow wouldn't want either to live which meant that Haymitch had to work extra hard and give everything he had left to protect her because Plutarch's plan was all but nonexistent now. There would only be one victor, no additional survivors to escape to Thirteen. Gloss and Brutus would die. August, Beetee, Zelic, and Caesar had to die. And Haymitch had to die.

His knife was easily accessible at his belt and Caesar's back was turned. He could do it now, before anyone else came back, leaving him to kill the rest of their allies alone. It was despicable, but he would rather do it quickly without Caesar looking than see the betrayal in his face. His fingertips touched the hilt.

"Personal question, Haymitch, and after all the invasive details I've given you about my life, I would expect the same courtesy in the truthfulness of your answer. Is there something going on between you and Effie Trinket?"

He had said it quietly so that the microphones couldn't pick it up because any association with Haymitch to the people on the outside could spell immediate death and Snow had already executed two women who got too close to him; there couldn't be a third. The question caught him so off guard that he forgot about the knife, about murdering Caesar in the most loathsome way possible.

"I—what?"

"I'll take that as a yes," said Caesar, looking over his shoulder with a grin.

"No, wait, I didn't say anything," Haymitch spluttered.

"You don't have to. Your struggle to find an alibi, your stuttering, the color in your cheeks—you told me without saying a word. It's okay, stop acting like it's a disgrace to be attracted to someone."

"But I don't—"

Now Caesar really did roll his eyes and then fix Haymitch with a _bullshit_ stare. "I am the best damn liar in Panem and I can spot a bullshitter from a mile away. I ask just because I've pitied her all these years, what with how you always have spurned her. Do you know that she actually made headlines the year you won by dressing up as you for a Memorable Tribute Parade?"

"A what now?"

"The annual Memoriable Tribute Parade. It's not what you'd expect and worse than it sounds. Respects aren't paid to the fallen or the victors of past Games. It's where children dress up as their favorite tributes, whether they survived or not, and they parade through the Capitol streets, pretending to kill imaginary enemies. It's actually quite nauseating. Anyway, the parade takes place in November and Effie dressed up as you that winter and made headlines because she was the first girl to dress as a boy victor. You should have seen the parade last year, though, with how many boys dressed up as Katniss there were. Times have certainly changed, but Effie was the droplet that started the wave of change. She didn't know any better, dressing up as she did, but she did admire you and always has, as I run into her often behind the scenes and she always speaks highly of you. I knew that it couldn't be just empty-headed foolishness and infatuation either because you're a hard person to get along with, but if she wants you, she knows what she's getting into. That's why I was pleased to hear that there's at least _something_ between the two of you."

How embarrassing was it that Caesar Flickerman knew more about the woman in Haymitch's personal life than Haymitch did? And if he knew about Effie's long-standing admiration of Haymitch, others would know as well which meant Snow knew and at this stage, if Peeta hadn't gotten her out, Snow would have her in custody for the crime of being attracted to him.

Peeta, the poor boy in over his head with trying to keep people alive on the outside as well as inside. If he had gotten Effie, Portia, Cinna, and the stylist teams out, then Haymitch owed him everything he had left to find Katniss and see her through to the end, Snow's wishes be damned.

"Have I distracted you?" asked Caesar somewhat jestingly. "You went into your own world just then, lost in thought."

"I was just wondering," Haymitch invented wildly, "About your lover and what she's doing right now."

"Probably relying on false hope that I'll be alive at the end of this. I know she didn't expect me to get this far. Hell, _I_ didn't expect to get this far. I thought that everyone would collectively turn on me as soon as the gong rang and that if I made it past the bloodbath that I'd be picked off somehow. I think Snow's somewhat regretting his decision to let me choose my own style of execution, but it makes for good television, so he's let me live up to this point. And I've had a damn good amount of luck in choosing you as my ally or rather, having you choose me because if I had sided with the Careers, if I had let Cashmere kill you and hoped that the Careers would take me in, they'd have turned on me by now."

Exactly what Haymitch was planning to do not three minutes ago. Caesar sounded so trusting and sure that Haymitch was the good guy here and that they would make it to the end together. And Haymitch still had to kill him somehow with that knowledge hovering around his brain.

"And there you go again," said Caesar. "What are you thinking about, really, because I know it's not my lover. Your life has too few hours left in it to waste time thinking about someone else's relationship."

This time, Haymitch had no ready lie.

"You're thinking about how you're going to kill me, aren't you?"

Haymitch was aware that he was holding his knife now and that Caesar could see him.

"I'm not stupid, Haymitch. I've known how this was going to end as soon as you didn't kill me outright. If it didn't happen then, it would have to happen eventually. But I don't want it to happen until it absolutely has to, if you can afford to spare me that long. If we're so lucky as to get rid of the remaining pack and be left with just the alliance, I would prefer to take my own life than to leave you with the task of trying to kill me."

"You think I can't?" asked Haymitch because he wanted Caesar to know that he absolutely could and he would if Caesar went back on his word and was unable to slit his own throat.

"I know you can. I've seen it. But I know you don't want to and it'll be difficult and it's not how you should spend your last moments, agonizing over what sort of damnation awaits you for killing a—well, I would say friend, but we don't have the luxury of that sort of relationship. I wouldn't wish that sort of decision on my worst enemy."

Almost with a touch of annoyance, Haymitch had to ask, "How are you so _calm_ about this?"

"Because the other option is to lose my shit and I don't feel like making a fool out of myself for all of Panem to see as the lasting image of Caesar Flickerman. I'm choosing to be calm. I had time between being beaten and launched into the tubes to cry and curse my circumstances so that I could keep a handle on my emotions once I was in here. The pill has done the rest and speaking of which…"

He popped back the last of his pill, enough to see him through one more major event, and then if he had a fit, there would be nothing Haymitch could do to help him.

"Come what will, my friend."

He turned his back on Haymitch to continue watching the four left-hand side doors and in exposing his back, he was telling Haymitch that he trusted him to keep his word.

"Caesar…"

Haymitch held out his hand and shook Caesar's with Enobaria's fang marks still prominent in his knuckles. It was a truce; Haymitch would let Caesar take his own way out, and the way out looked to be coming in soon.


	14. Chapter 14: End of an Era

He'd fallen asleep again, though it couldn't have been long because when he snorted himself awake with a start, Caesar was still smoking.

"God, you snore something awful," said Caesar when he saw Haymitch slapping himself into alertness.

"How long was I out?"

"You were awake when I started this cigarette. I'd say twenty seconds, probably, and if you can conjure up a snore like that in twenty seconds, you have some problems, my friend."

Haymitch stretched out his limbs, yawning and looking about for his canteen to rid himself of the dry feeling in his mouth when he heard terrible, wounded shouting from deep within the city, or perhaps it was just echoing through the ventilation system and it was much closer, but either way, it was an awful thing to listen to. He stood up, watching all of the doors with Caesar and waiting for someone to burst into the cavern.

Someone did.

Zelic was hot on Gloss's tail and both of them were bleeding from numerous slashes to their bodies. It was Zelic who had been making that awful noise, openly weeping as he came after Gloss with everything he had and Gloss was just trying to keep him back at this point.

"You stay here, keep the vantage point and let me know if anyone from the other side is coming," Haymitch told Caesar.

He stuck his legs out over the edge and let the natural curvature of the Cornucopia take his weight so that he glided more than fell off of it. He hit the ground running, preparing to cut Gloss's legs out from under him since Gloss's back was to him but he was less than ten feet away when he hit an invisible wall that threw him several feet back from the impact. He had no marks on him, for it wasn't a reactive force field, but it did stop him from getting to Zelic who was losing the fight.

Gloss, like Brutus, was enormous and muscular and Zelic absolutely wasn't. He only had rage on his side as he hacked in amateur fashion at Gloss but he had to have done some serious damage already, for Gloss was having trouble parrying the attacks. He deliberately tripped and when Zelic tried to take advantage of it, he sliced Zelic's leg open before pouncing on him. Zelic held his sword flat to block Gloss's next attack but Gloss put his full weight into it and rolled, forcing the sword from Zelic's hands. The momentum carried Zelic over onto the top and he took the knife from his boot, plunging it downward.

Catching Zelic's offensive wrist in one hand, Gloss pointed his sword so that the tip was just inches from Zelic's belly. Gloss would win out as soon as Zelic's strength gave out. With an incomprehensible shout, Zelic fell upon Gloss's sword and his soft exhale of acceptance made Gloss lower his defenses. Zelic drove his knife home in Gloss's throat and the District 1 tribute clawed at the point of impact, fingers scrabbling uselessly to stop the blood as Zelic tumbled off of him.

The force field parted at the same time that one of the many branching doors began to open. August led Katniss and Beetee out, saw Zelic, and his face fell. Haymitch walked in a zombie-like state to where Zelic lay on his side, wheezing with Gloss's sword still sticking out of the back of his spine. He lifted Zelic's head up out of the pool of blood from Gloss's throat but Zelic's eyes didn't find Haymitch, already shadowed in white fog, the blindness that preceded death.

"Is he dead?" asked Zelic in a voice just barely audible so that Haymitch had to lean over to hear him.

The cannon sounded.

"Now he is."

Zelic's lips pulled back, his teeth stained red in an eerie smile. And then he was gone as his cannon followed Gloss's.

Haymitch set Zelic's head down on the floor and then backed away from the body, running his hands distractedly through his hair. He paced in circles, not comprehending that this had been a living, breathing body the last time he had seen Zelic. Another fallen tribute, fallen friend because Plutarch Heavensbee was full of shit and Haymitch was an idiot to have fallen for his scheme. He couldn't process this, he couldn't take it.

Arms wrapped around him and forced him into an embrace that he didn't want. He tried to fight it and should have been able to throw this person off, but he was angry, confused, and done. Kilo had the right idea once the pain became too much.

He heard voices around him but only when he raised his head to see a brown braid did he find out that it had been Katniss who came to hold him in his moment of total emotional surrender. He had half been expecting Caesar, for Katniss was always the one Haymitch had had to console before and wasn't one much for extending comfort to others. She didn't care for Haymitch, not after the rocky start they'd gotten off to, but she did feel responsible for him, as he did for her, so she held him and he let her because he needed it.

"Haymitch…"

He knew it was August talking to him even as he kept his eyes down. He needed just a few more seconds to himself, hidden in Katniss's embrace.

"Haymitch, where's Olathe, Stele, and Kilo?"

When he emerged, he felt disappointment in himself for going to pieces when every remaining allied tribute was depending on him for—something. He had helped stage this alliance and even if he had given up on Plutarch's plans, they hadn't, so they were still relying on him to come through for them.

He told them of how they had supposedly lost Olathe, only to lose Stele minutes later and find that Olathe had not been in the sky. He explained Kilo's decision to hold off Brutus and Gloss, but that he and Caesar had not seen Olathe since she had drawn the cat mutt off.

August had Haymitch and Katniss kneel and Beetee joined in the circle them to hide what he was about to show Haymitch from the cameras. He lowered his voice to something between a whisper and silence so that the four of them nearly had their heads pressed together.

"I got a parachute," said August. "It had metal scraps hidden in the actual pod and Beetee and Katniss each got one too. Together, the scraps made a button that Beetee put together and figured was a detonator to blow the arena from the inside. It'll cut all the power to the Capitol so that they won't be able to see us and whatever sort of plan you have, that's when it'll go into effect. We can activate it now, just as soon as we clear the city, and we'd better do it fast because when we were here earlier, Beetee found a lever inside the Cornucopia that acts as a fail safe for the Gamemakers to close off everyone inside the city and then detonate from the inside."

"How'd you find that without the Gamemakers seeing you?"

"During that thirty second power outage, don't you remember when it all went black?" asked Beetee.

No, Haymitch didn't recall that. It must have been either when he was asleep (though he figured Caesar might have told him) or when he was in the death compartment (again, without Caesar telling him).

"Well, it's irrelevant how anyway. It's not meant for us to find or use, but it does control the dome, so there's a way to stop it if it happens and once August pulls out a device with a blaring red button, they should get the gist of what's happening and try to trap us in here."

"Excuse me, but I would love to be a part of this private conversation you're having," called Caesar from his perch on top of the Cornucopia where Haymitch had left him.

"Would you go help his Host-ness down from there, please?" August told Beetee and Beetee went off to offer some assistance to Caesar in climbing down. Then he appealed to Haymitch, hopeful. "We've got this, Haymitch, we're going to get out of here."

Haymitch wanted to tell him that no, they weren't. With how many people were already dead, what was the use in preserving the last of them when Plutarch had made it sound like there would be so many more? What had that secret message ten even been about? Only one of them was going to make it and it still had to be Katniss. August was prepared for that when he joined the alliance, but he had also started to believe that more of them would make it and after losing Enid, to tell him now that it had been for nothing, didn't seem to be the right thing to do.

 _Is the better thing to do to stab him in the gut right now?_

"With just the five of us left against Brutus, we should make for the surface so they can't trap us down here. Brutus will have to follow if he wants a shot at us and we'll go back to the pedestal island."

"Olathe is still alive somewhere," Haymitch pointed out.

"Well, if she has any sense, she'll find her way back here too, but we can't wait for her."

Haymitch wanted to argue that yes, they could, and they were going to wait for her, but even with the detonator, he didn't trust that Plutarch's plan was still in operation, so that meant that Katniss was still the only one who could survive and so Olathe would have to die anyway.

"Let's gather what supplies we can and head for the surface. Beetee, I need you to—"

Beetee had never helped Caesar down; he lay at the bottom of the Cornucopia, unconscious from a bad knock to the head. Atop the metal structure, Brutus had Caesar in a choke hold, his hand on the back of Caesar's head, preparing to snap his neck if Haymitch and the others tried to attack. Katniss strung an arrow to her bow and Haymitch and August both went into fighter's stance, but Brutus was too far away for them to do anything.

"This is when it comes down to your sense of humanity, Haymitch," said Brutus. "It's me against the three of you—and Beetee, if he's still alive after I hit his head hard enough. I can kill him right now and do you a favor, leave one less person you have to contend with. And if you manage to kill me, it'll be a free for all between the survivors. But you've managed to avoid the slaughter up until now, right? You want to end these Games with the least amount of blood on your hands, so say the word and I'll end it. He'll never feel a thing, which is better than any way you could kill him. I'll even do it for anyone else who doesn't feel up to battling it out anymore."

Caesar gagged, pulling against Brutus's arm, but he had no chance in hell of throwing the bigger man off. Caesar was almost half Brutus's size and he was already weaker in terms of muscle mass and coordination. This was Brutus's fight to win, his victory to claim.

"Let me talk to him," Caesar rasped out, and surprisingly, Brutus let go just enough so that Caesar wasn't in danger of dying of asphyxiation. Glancing from August to Katniss to Haymitch, Caesar gasped for air and then gave a quick shake of his head. "It's okay, it's better this way. Let him do it and go."

Katniss lowered her bow slightly.

"Do you have him?" asked Haymitch, barely opening his lips.

"I might hit Caesar," replied Katniss with equal discretion.

"He'll forgive you."

"I need an answer, or I'll do it anyway without giving you the chance to have closure about it," warned Brutus, and his forearm tightened once again across Caesar's throat.

The grip Haymitch had on his sword was sweaty, but cold as he watched Caesar's feet leave the Cornucopia roof.

"It'll be okay," Caesar choked.

Like a burnt hand being withdrawn from an open flame, Haymitch recoiled, forced back into the hallucination of Caesar, trapped behind the glass while the shadowy figure descended upon him. The figure lifted him and then slammed him into the door so that blood ran from nearly every orifice on Caesar's face. And then he was back, watching Brutus strangle Caesar whose face was slowly turning from red to blue.

"Take him," Haymitch told Katniss, and she let her arrow fly, striking Brutus in the leg so that he was forced to release Caesar who fell from the top of the Cornucopia down onto the metal floor. Even from here, Haymitch winced as he heard the crack that meant something had broken. Brutus tore out the arrow and leaped from the top of the Cornucopia to finish the job. He stomped down on Caesar's leg which was already bent at an odd angle, and Caesar's bone popped completely out of the wetsuit. Caesar screamed as Brutus pinned him down with his knees but even a well-aimed punch to Brutus's nose didn't stop the bigger man from securing a choke hold on Caesar.

Haymitch and Katniss had started running the second the arrow hit Brutus, but August had taken off two seconds earlier, and so he reached the Corucopia ahead of time, launching himself forward to completely pull Brutus off of Caesar. Gasping for air, Caesar tried to inch backwards from the battling duo but Brutus was absolutely determined to kill him even locked in battle with August. He caught Caesar's broken leg and yanked. Two hands took Caesar by the underarms and pulled in the opposite direction and Haymitch rejoiced at the sight of Olathe.

His celebration was short-lived as Brutus rose to face off against Haymitch, Katniss, and August. He was a god among men, blessed with incredible stamina and strength to take them all on at once. He swiped his axe wide, nearly spilling Haymitch's guts and though Haymitch sucked his stomach in at the last second, August wasn't so lucky. The axe blade cut him in his upper thigh, right above the femoral artery. With August down, Haymitch was next up to battle Brutus and he realized that fact one precious second before Brutus did. He brought his sword down hard on Brutus's axe, hard enough to cause tremors to ripple through it and make Brutus drop it. Now disarmed, Brutus went for the full-body tackle and Haymitch's skull hit the floor hard enough to make him vomit. He punched out at Brutus once, twice, then felt the bone in his nose break as Brutus's fist made contact with it. Katniss put herself in between Haymitch and Brutus but Brutus body slammed her into the ground like she weighed nothing. Winded, Katniss lay there nursing her stomach as Brutus went back to pick up his axe.

With blood spilling into his mouth from both nostrils, Haymitch sat up, finding his sword hilt, flicking it up into fighting mode, and spreading his stance in front of Katniss to face Brutus.

The bigger man was visibly exhausted now, for he let out a weary sigh and his shoulders sagged when he saw Haymitch challenging him.

"You can't," he said, his voice heavy with fatigue. "You know you can't."

"I know, but I have to try," responded Haymitch. Even as he said it, his arms grew heavy with holding his weapon and his knees shook with the effort of supporting him. He couldn't do it and both he and Brutus knew it.

"Haymitch, no…" choked Katniss.

"I got you, kid. We're gonna make it," said Haymitch without looking at her.

Brutus took a step toward them and then Olathe moved in front of Haymitch with Caesar's knife in hand. She was so laughably small in front of him, but she was facing the very thing that terrified her, that had made her afraid to be touched by anyone in the years after her Games and for that, Haymitch admired her.

If only Stele could see her now.

"You people don't get it, do you?" Brutus thundered. "You don't get to be a team anymore. You're all down, you're all wounded, and you can't protect each other. We can't protect each other from this."

"We can if you drop the axe," called Caesar, and Haymitch saw that he had picked up Katniss's bow and was aiming it at Brutus. "Drop it."

Brutus let out a painful-sounding laugh. "You're no Girl on Fire, Flickerman, you can't shoot worth a— _aargh_!" Caesar's arrow found its mark in Brutus's hip, a flesh wound, but still painful.

"I'm not Katniss, but I do get lucky and I still have half a quiver-full of arrows to use on you unless you _drop it_ ," said Caesar and even from his position sitting at the base of the Cornucopia, he had impeccable posture.

"You can survive," said August, sitting himself up after having ripped off one of his sleeves to wrap around his thigh wound. "We all can, if we stop fighting. There's a way."

"Bullshit there is. One victor, or do you idiots not remember the rules?"

"The rules were broken before; they can be broken again."

In the silence that followed August's proclamation, they heard a comforting beep that announced what would undoubtedly be the final parachute of the 75th Hunger Games. The parachute landed on August's shoulder and within was only a single piece of paper. August read it aloud for them all: " _Now._ "

The force field shook, sending those who were still on their feet to the ground and then a metallic domed casing began to descend over it, one that would trap them inside so that the Gamemakers could blow them all into oblivion with no victor, a much better conclusion to the Games than allowing rebels to outsmart them. If the Gamemakers didn't already have an idea that there was something more happening between the allied tributes, they knew now and whoever had let that parachute come through was most likely on their way to be executed. The arena was closing them in and in a few moments, it would all be over.

August ran for the lever, spilling blood everywhere and shrieking as he put pressure on his bad leg. He caught the lever as it tried to fold upward. He put his entire body weight into holding it down and the metal shell stopped, but the lever must have had a giant's power behind it, for August was struggling to hold it down.

"Everyone out _now!_ " he roared.

Haymitch didn't have time to worry about what Brutus was doing. He called to Olathe and Katniss to get to Beetee as he ran back to the Cornucopia for Caesar.

"I can't run," said Caesar when Haymitch tried to drag him along.

At the edge of the force field, Olathe and Katniss each had looped their arms with Beetee's and pushed through the invisible barrier, out into the water where they began to swim for the surface.

Haymitch bent sideways, coiling his arm around Caesar's leg and hoisting him upright across his shoulders. Stumbling under the weight, Haymitch teetered but managed to keep going. Caesar tried not to make noise as Haymitch carried him, but every step jostled his broken leg and his grip on Haymitch's shoulder was starting to become painful.

"Faster, please!" shouted August and Haymitch doubled his efforts, determined not to let the rumbling city throw him off balance again because if he went down, he knew he wasn't getting up. At the edge of the dome, he set Caesar down, told him to hold his breath, and then pushed him out into the water. Caesar put his arms to his sides and shot for the surface like a rocket.

"That's everyone, let's go!" called Haymitch to August who was clear across the cavern, nowhere near the force field.

August held up his arm even as the other fought to hold open the lever that would seal off the force field and trap them in this city below the waves. In his hand, Haymitch could see the unmistakable red button of the detonator.

Shaking his head vigorously, Haymitch beckoned for August to follow them, now that the time had come for the final stage of the plan to take effect. August could survive this; they all could.

But someone had to keep the force field open and before the Gamemakers could activate it themselves, someone needed to detonate the trigger. August had accepted that responsibility and even if he could make it out before the arena self-destructed, he was bleeding too heavily. He nodded to Haymitch as if to say, _I'm sure_ , and then Haymitch allowed himself to fall into the force field, pushing out into the open water and kicking madly for the surface as the distorted image of August through the shield showed him a thumb descending on the button.

The explosion shook Haymitch's ribs as he broke through to the surface and the shock waves that followed peaked at the size of two-story buildings, pushing Haymitch further out to sea. He was swept right past the original crescent pedestal island and saw that though Katniss had managed to get herself on land, the wave crashed into her and knocked her back into the water.

Thunder from overhead matched the explosion below until it combined into one. The rumbling was not the thunder, though, it was the arena caving in on itself. An uneven section of the sky separated from the rest, pitching them all into darkness momentarily and then the real sky of the real world could be seen above. Out of the clear blue emerged a hovercraft with its crane descending to fish the tributes out of the water. Haymitch saw the crane dip into the waves and go back up with a body in its clutches. There was no way to tell who it was from here, or if they were still alive.

Now came the moment of truth. If Plutarch had provided the detonation to August and Beetee, then he had come to rescue them in the hovercraft above, but if the Capitol knew what was happening and tried to blow the arena, they would also be coming to search for and execute any survivors. There was no way of knowing if that hovercraft was friendly or not and if it wasn't, what sort of contingency plan was there for Haymitch? Swim until he reached the edge of the arena and wait for it to fall apart enough for him to somehow escape?

He waited for his turn, watching the tributes be lifted one by one and he counted: one, two, three, four…then the crane came for him. One tribute left in the water, but it was Haymitch's turn and he could try to swim for it, or let himself be taken.

The metal jaws closed around him, scooping him gently out of the water and trapping him in a cage that he couldn't have jumped from even if he'd wanted to. He watched the vast body of water below become smaller, measuring each breath and waiting for the sight of the gun that would snuff out his life. He became level with the hovercraft and the cage tipped sideways, spilling him onto the craft floor.

Unfamiliar faces approached him, not masked, but not known to him, and they had numerous instruments in their hands. Haymitch's arms went up to defend himself and he kicked out, shouting at these people who wanted to touch him, hurt him, kill him…

"It's alright, Haymitch, they're helping you. I'm here, and Peeta is here. You're safe," said the shrill voice of Effie Trinket as her arms enveloped him, holding him in a tight embrace more to steady him than anything else. The uniformed people were poking and prodding at every inch of him to look for pressing wounds that needed immediate care but they apparently found none and moved on. Effie's hold on him prevented him from seeing what the uniformed people were doing to Caesar or making sure that Katniss wasn't about to be executed on sight. It didn't make sense, having these people he had spent night and day worrying about suddenly appear in the very hovercraft that had lifted him out of the arena. He wasn't prepared for life outside of the arena, and especially not life with Effie Trinket cradling him. He didn't want her to let him go, but at the same time, he was waiting for these uniformed people to start shooting the survivors.

Peeta had his arms around Katniss nearby and on the floor next to them was Beetee, heaving as water came back up his throat. Olathe sat between two seats, hands pressed over her eyes as the hovercraft began to move. Then, as the crank came up the final time, Haymitch saw the bald, bleeding head of—

"Hey!" shouted one of the guards as Haymitch made to grab the nearest weapon from the stock on the wall and use it on Brutus.

"Stand down!" ordered another guard, but Haymitch ignored both of them.

Brutus saw Haymitch coming for him, threw back the uniformed people tending to Caesar, and used the latter as a shield. Effie screamed and Brutus looked her way scathingly. Stepping in front of her with his borrowed baton in hand, Haymitch gripped it as tightly as possible despite the injured tendons that prevented him from holding it properly.

"Let him go," he spat at Brutus.

"You put that down now, Haymitch, or you're going to find yourself in the same situations from a few minutes ago, only this time you don't have a backup arrow to shoot at me."

"Let him go," Haymitch demanded again.

"Drop what's in your hand."

"You let go first."

"Both of you back off, or I'll have the guards sedate you from now until Christmas," came the surprisingly harsh voice of Plutarch Heavensbee.

Haymitch whirled around and punched Plutarch in the jaw. He seized the man by his lapels and shook him until the guard who had first ordered him to stand down pulled him off. The guard was several inches taller than him with speckled black and white stubble and immaculately combed jet-black hair. Not a Capitol product, but someone who took their appearance quite seriously.

"Get off," said Haymitch, knowing that this man would best him in any contest, anytime.

"No, I think it's better if I don't."

Haymitch swung at Plutarch again. "You said ten, you bastard! You said ten! Not all of them!"

"Most of them," Plutarch corrected, nursing his injury. "And I only hinted that ten was when things would start to fall into place. I never confirmed that there would be a grand shut off at ten and then everyone could breathe a sigh of relief."

"You gave me your word! You made me trust you and I was waiting for that signal for fucking ever! We could have gotten August, Kilo, Stele, Zelic, and Amara! We could have saved more because it was supposed to end after Enid, but it only got worse. You let them pick my team off one by one and preserved the Careers as long as you could."

"Snow needed some convincing when Cashmere and Ramie went down in the first twenty-four hours and none of your strong allies did. Johanna was a peace offering, as was Finnick."

"A peace offering? Did you just call the lives of two people _a fucking peace offering_?"

"I'll put you out, Abernathy, don't think I won't," said the man holding him. "I don't have time for your bullshit right now because we need to go silent to slip through the Capitol's lines undetected so you can shut up and sit down or lay there unconscious. And you," he rounded on Brutus while still holding Haymitch, "Sit your ass down or I'll put you out too."

Brutus let go of Caesar who dropped back down to the floor on his bad leg and swore.

"Sir, we need to remove their trackers before we cross the eastern border," said another uniformed soldier.

At this news, Olathe panicked and seeing that her need was more important than his rage, Haymitch agreed to cooperate. The grey-clad doctors aboard went to Katniss and Brutus to remove their trackers first and Haymitch knelt before Olathe who was refusing to let the doctors near her.

"They have to take it out now," Haymitch told her. "It'll be quick and then they'll leave you alone."

But no, Olathe wouldn't have it, hugging her knees to her chest and squealing to keep the doctors back. Whatever had happened to her after she parted from Haymitch's group, it had broken her again. Or maybe it was seeing Stele's face in the sky, knowing that there was no one left to protect her. Or, since she had been lifted out before Haymitch, maybe the soldiers had manhandled her and she was now afraid of what they were going to do to her. If she didn't calm down and let them remove her tracker before they came upon the Capitol boundaries, Plutarch would have her sedated.

"I said don't fucking touch me!" shouted Caesar from behind, kicking out at the doctors.

"Mister Flickerman, this is going to happen with or without your cooperation," said Plutarch.

"You'll have my cooperation _after_ I help her," said Caesar and started dragging himself across the floor to Haymitch and Olathe and it was obviously causing him immense pain on his broken leg to do so. Brutus, who had just had his own tracker removed and was still bleeding from his forearm, grabbed the back of Caesar's wetsuit in a one-handed grip and Haymitch prepared to tackle him, but Brutus only lifted Caesar the last few feet to Olathe and set him back down on the floor. Without acknowledging Brutus's help, Caesar sat himself up and used his body to block anyone else except Haymitch from getting close to Olathe.

"It has to come out," he told her. "They don't want to hurt you. They're not here to do anything but take it out. If they don't, the Capitol will be able to find you and take you back to all that you're trying to escape."

"I know," said Olathe hysterically. "But I can't."

"Then watch me first and if you still don't want to after, Haymitch or I can do it."

"I can't—"

"Just watch."

Caesar held out his forearm to the doctors and nudged Haymitch to do the same. A surgical scalpel cut through the newly mended flesh along Haymitch's forearm, just below where Enobaria had stabbed him. Aware of Olathe eyeing him like a hawk to gauge him for pain, Haymitch bit into his lip and watched the doctor insert a pair of tweezers into his flesh and emerge with a small, glowing cylinder. Then a bandage was tied off to keep him from bleeding and the doctor told him that he would be treated further upon arrival in District Thirteen.

Olathe's face was covered in half-moon marks from where she had dug her fingernails into her skin while watching Haymitch and Caesar and if anything, she looked even more terrified now.

"ETA to perimeter defense two minutes, sir," said the same soldier who had made the first announcement.

"Miss Edgeton, we need to proceed, so if you can't handle this, we will sedate you," said Plutarch in what might have passed for an understanding tone to him, but to Haymitch and everyone else, it was definitely a threat.

"She doesn't want you touching her," said Effie to Haymitch's surprise. "You'll keep your hands and those of these doctors off of her or I'll be having words with the superiors at Thirteen about how you treat women, Mister Heavensbee."

"If she doesn't let us take it out, we'll never get to Thirteen for you to complain, Miss Trinket," said Plutarch irritably.

"Ignore him," said Caesar.

"Excuse me, but she needs to take this seriously—"

Caesar didn't give Plutarch the courtesy of looking at him as he held out his bleeding arm and lifted one finger that said, "Wait."

"Please, I can't," said Olathe. "I can't do it. Don't let them—"

"They won't," Haymitch promised. "No one is going to touch you without your permission. It's just us here. Just you, me, and Caesar, and we won't let anyone near you. Do you trust me when I tell you that?"

Olathe stared hard at the floor between them as if trying to pull up memories of what Haymitch and Caesar had done for her in the arena, trying to remember if they had ever been linked with the fear she felt from being touched against her will.

Caesar put out a cautionary hand, moving with deliberate slowness so that Olathe could see him coming and touched her chin, moving her head up to look at him. "Look at me, sweetheart, just me."

It was an odd term for him to use since he had no personal relationship with her other than what had transpired in the arena, but it caught her attention.

"Breathe," he told her, and then snapped his fingers at Haymitch to proceed with cutting the tracker out himself.

Haymitch tried to take the scalpel out of the doctor's hand behind him and the soldier who had detained him slapped Haymitch's wrist.

"Look, soldier…what's your name?"

"Boone."

"Okay, Boone, you know this woman, yes? You know what she's gone through and how survivors who come out of the arena are in a severely fucked up mental state? If you want to do the humane thing here and let us handle it, you'll let me cut the tracker out of her because if you force this on her, she'll remember it and you'll never, ever have her cooperation for what's to come. I just need to cut it out of her; I promise not to use it on the prick standing behind you or the bald bastard over there."

"Forty-five seconds, sir."

Boone considered Haymitch and then nodded. "Give him the scalpel. We're going dark everyone, no noise."

Caesar had now coaxed Olathe into grasping his hand. "You defended me constantly in the arena which tells me that you knew you could trust me. Trust me right now. Hold on to me." Miraculously, Olathe turned her body into Caesar's and he secured his arm around her as she offered out her forearm to Haymitch.

The tracking light glowed just below her skin and Haymitch touched the tip of the surgical blade to the area. Olathe opened her mouth to scream and Caesar moved his hand over her lips. Haymitch cut and the tracker squeezed itself out so that he didn't even have to go through with the business of fishing for it. Boone snatched it up and crushed it underfoot, holding a finger to his lips as they passed over the border. The lights on board went green, but only a few of them remained on and the engine seemed to die out completely so that Haymitch couldn't hear anything at all.

If the Capitol was able to lock onto them, the hovercraft would be shot down and Haymitch didn't see any parachutes…

Two minutes later, the pilot gave the all-clear and Caesar let go of Olathe, scooting back to give her some room. All of them were still soaked, but Caesar was visibly sweating now and paler than Olathe. With shaking hands, he pushed his bangs out of his face.

"We're going to treat your other injuries now, Mister Flickerman, unless you have further objections," said one of the doctors in a disapproving tone.

"Can I have some morphling first?"

"That's in short supply on board, unfortunately."

"Then you'd better have some damn good ways of restraining someone who's lost their shit," said Caesar.

"What do you mean?"

Haymitch threw himself on Caesar and not a moment too soon, for the latter had gone for Boone's belt knife. He started to shriek, thrashing and kicking in an effort to get free. Without his medication, there was nothing to do except let him ride out his fit. Securing all four limbs around him, Haymitch held him down, calling for help and Katniss and Beetee came to him, each taking an arm and a leg apiece but even then, he was wild and difficult to hold. Just when Haymitch thought he was going to lose his grip, Olathe reached over and held Caesar's head down, rubbing soothing circles into his scalp that he probably couldn't feel, but the gesture was still there.

"Sedate him!" Haymitch shouted. "Now, before he hurts himself!"

Boone took the syringe from the nearest doctor who looked too concerned for their own well being to get in close and administered the shot to the back of Caesar's neck. Eyes scrunched up in pain and teeth gnashing, Caesar kept writhing and shouting obscenities until the sedative took effect but it didn't knock him out, only mellowed him. His eyelids fluttered and became heavy, but they were still partially open and his limbs became useless as he lay on the floor with his face stuck to it by his own saliva.

"Is he good, or do I need to hit him?" asked Boone.

Leaning over him to check his response time to Haymitch snapping in his face, Haymitch shook his head. "He's sedated. Probably still aware of what's happening around him, but he can't do much about it."

"Then let us treat him, please stand aside, Mister Abernathy," said the doctors and Haymitch was suddenly once again loathe to move away. He couldn't bring himself to willingly let Caesar leave his side in case he didn't come back alive. He wanted all of the surviving tributes—with the exception of Brutus—to stay right here with him because the second they became separated, they all would be shot.

At least, that's what made sense in Haymitch's head. Reality hadn't quite caught up with him yet.

"It'll be fine, Haymitch," said Plutarch. "They're not going to hurt him; trust me."

"That is the least-effective thing you could have said to make me step back and let them take him," said Haymitch.

"I'll go with him," volunteered Peeta. "I'll stay with him until they're done setting his leg and then I'll come get you."

Haymitch didn't like this boy seeing him like this. Granted, he had first met Peeta in a state of drunkenness and then had Peeta help him take a shower so that he didn't slip and crack his skull open and Peeta had seen him in every sort of emotional state possible on screen, but facing him after knowing that Peeta had seen it was difficult. Peeta had never broken on camera, never shown weakness like Haymitch had on Caesar's behalf. What choice did Haymitch have, though? If he couldn't trust Peeta, he couldn't trust anyone.

The doctors lifted Caesar onto a stretcher and his head flopped to the side, his weighted eyelids not quite obscuring his eyes that were asking Haymitch what was happening to him.

"You'll be okay," Haymitch assured him. "They're gonna set your leg and bring you right back."

Three of the doctors moved to the next room over in the hovercraft with Peeta and Caesar, leaving the remaining tributes to be dealt with and attended to for their injuries.

Another doctor saw to the lump on Beetee's head, courtesy of Brutus as well as the two arrow wounds Brutus had sustained. Katniss and Olathe were relatively unscathed and not in need of immediate medical attention but Haymitch became aware of the burning in his nose and squinted when a doctor shined a light in his face to examine the break.

"I can give you something for the pain and stop it from bleeding, but you'll have to wait until we get to Thirteen to assess further damage."

Haymitch said nothing, allowing tissue to be stuffed up his nose and a small pain pill to be placed in his hand. He suddenly felt chilled for it was still the middle of summer outside the hovercraft and so within, it was air conditioned and for someone who had just come out of a vast body of water in nothing but a wetsuit, it was damn right cold. He sat down on the floor where Caesar had been as Boone moved among them, offering blankets and food. When he got to Olathe, she scooted back from him and he set her supplies at his feet before moving on.

Haymitch shook out her blanket to full length and opened it for her to wrap around herself but she came in close to him in what he understood to be an act of reassurance. She felt safe with him which was an enormous accomplishment for him given that Stele was the only person she had trusted to touch her for years and even then, it wasn't always advisable. He put his arm around her and helped rub some warmth into her limbs. On his other side, without Peeta to comfort her, Katniss put her head on Haymitch's shoulder and took his hand.

He hadn't had more than a minute to speak to her since being reunited at the Cornucopia and his relief to have her in safety, away from Snow's reach was nearly overwhelming at this point. He'd done everything he could to protect her and it still wasn't enough because he got separated from her not once, not twice, but three times in that arena. It was thanks to the other tributes, to those who were not with them now, that she was still alive.

"You good, sweetheart?" he asked.

"No, are you?"

"Nope."

They weren't okay; they wouldn't be for a long time. But they were alive, heading toward something unknown and almost impossible to comprehend.


	15. Chapter 15: District Thirteen

He sat on the hovercraft floor for hours, wide awake and unable to let his body's fatigue take him into a much-needed slumber. Katniss and Olathe both had fallen asleep against him so that he couldn't move anyway without waking them and it seemed cruel to do so. An hour or so after they had taken him into the back, the doctors returned with Caesar who was still sedated, but now with his leg in a temporary splint to secure it. The survivors of the Quarter Quell were kept in the dark both figuratively and literally as they flew in dim lighting as night set in and Plutarch had long since gone up front to confer with the hovercraft captain, leaving Boone and his soldiers to watch over Haymitch and the others or more likely guard them.

Peeta encouraged him to get some rest but Haymitch couldn't. He'd gotten all of them into this, whatever it was, and it was his responsibility to see them through or at least be the first one killed once they landed. He didn't expect District Thirteen to be very welcoming of Capitol residents and people who had grown up in the Capitol after they won their Games. He had openly voiced his hatred for the Capitol, as had most of the victors in the arena, but if Thirteen was their destination, they had cut ties with the Capitol and all of the districts, ally to none, enemy of all.

"Wheels down in three," said Boone and Haymitch and the others came alert in unison, looking to arm themselves with weapons that were not at their disposal.

"No one is going to hurt you, so try not to act like you're about to be bombed," Boone continued. "Forewarning: you are about to be screened, examined, and processed in a very invasive fashion."

Haymitch was no stranger to that after having his naked body bared to his prep team twice. But now that it was brought up here in the presence of Olathe, he had to wonder how she had ever gotten through the pre-Games prep with three strangers touching her. Maybe they all had been women, but here, her condition wasn't a known subject and she was likely to have an extraordinary meltdown.

"If there's any of you that can't walk, you'll be carried in, but it's best to make good first impressions."

"For what?" asked Brutus. "We're all bloodied, starving, and defenseless so why are we supposed to march into a new place like we're trying to win sponsors all over again?"

"Because these people are welcoming you into their district with open arms, the first outsiders to enter since Thirteen was wiped off the map and if you show them weakness, they'll see this risk they took to rescue you as fruitless," said Plutarch as if the answer was obvious.

"We didn't ask them to rescue us," said Katniss. "They can't expect the world of people who have just come out of hell."

Boone intercut here, being a resident of Thirteen himself and speaking for his people. "We don't expect much at all. We live frugal lives, but it's how we survived. If you don't act like you're above us, you won't be treated like you're below us."

"Sounds like a recipe for disaster," said Caesar groggily at long last. He spotted Haymitch looking down on him and held his head as if suffering from a migraine. "That…was not fun. It's been a long time since…years since it got that bad."

"You couldn't help it," said Peeta understandingly.

"Perhaps not, but I'm not going to be carried in, you can be sure of that. I'm already up for scrutiny because of who I am and how do you think it would look to these people who I'm assuming have to do everything for themselves to see a pampered Capitol host borne in on a stretcher and catered to like his life is worth more than theirs? No, thank you, I'll be walking in."

"You can't walk—" murmured Olathe.

"Everyone hold onto something as we land," said Boone, wrapping his fingers around a strap on the ceiling. Haymitch held onto Caesar's shoulder with one hand and grasped the wall with the other as the hovercraft landed and the boarding ramp lowered to reveal an enormous bunker filled with missiles, tanks, and other war weaponry. The smell of gasoline reached him and he wondered if it was an after-effect from the bomb that had taken out Thirteen.

"When I call your name, fall in right," said Boone. "Abernathy, Haymith; Flickerman, Caesar; Heavensbee, Plutarch; Hitower, Brutus—"

"Come, dear, come with me," said Effie, holding out her hand to Olathe as one of Boone's soldiers began to call the women to the left.

"Why?" asked Olathe, digging her heels into the ramp as Effie tried to pull her down it.

"Because they're segregating new arrivals by gender," said Plutarch. "You'll go with Miss Trinket and Miss Everdeen."

"No, wait," said Haymitch. "They need to know about her before they take her in there and do a strip search. She'll lose it if they try to touch her, Plutarch, and so help me God if they manhandle her—"

"We won't," said Boone. "I'll go with her right up to processing and then tell the guards at the security checkpoint about her condition, but the rest of you need to proceed where directed. Mister Flickerman, if you're not going to walk yourself off of that craft, you will be carried or I will drag you off."

Caesar rolled off of the stretcher and hit the ground on his good knee, pushing himself up onto it as he took a stance and wobbled. Peeta ran back to help him down the ramp, draping Caesar's arm around his shoulders.

"She's not going to make it," said Beetee pointedly to Haymitch, nodding at Olathe who was looking back at them, hoping one of them would come to her rescue. Katniss looped arms with her and steered her in the right direction, but Haymitch could hear her whimpering from here. Boone left them in the hands of his second-in-command, Callen who was older, white-haired, and hook-nosed. He could have passed for a Capitol citizen if he had some color to spruce up his appearance, but his expression was what made him so off-putting to Haymitch. He might have been showing malice, contempt, anger, fascination, and curiosity all in one but there was absolutely no way of telling. When he spoke, he had a quick intake of breath before each sentence as if he had been holding it just to deliver every word with a bit of a bite.

"Step lively," he said, following them through a passageway and into a lift with metal grilles. On the lift, Haymitch nearly lost his balance as they descended with speed that he was not prepared for. Callen brought them to a stop in a corridor that reflected the same green light as there had been on the hovercraft, although it made the walls appear grimy down here.

"How far down are we?" asked Beetee.

"Far enough," answered Callen shortly.

They passed into another corridor labeled "Infirmary" and were set upon immediately by more doctors who separated them and led them off into cubicles before any of them had a chance to protest. Haymitch saw Peeta being pulled off of Caesar rather than letting him go and then he rounded the corner and lost both of them. His cubicle had tiled floors and as soon as he entered, cold water sprayed from the ceiling, dousing him with its sting. He let out a yelp at the frigid temperatures and was then instructed by a doctor to strip.

"Give me a second; that water's goddamn freezing!" he shouted.

"Clothes, off."

"I said gimme a second—"

"Clothes, off."

"If you tell me that one more time, I'm gonna pin your ass to the ground and see how you like the water."

He may not have struck an imposing figure in his charred wetsuit with his hair plastered to his head in the torrential downpour from the ceiling, but as he squared himself in front of the doctor and invaded the man's personal space, he knew that no one would be ordering him around from here on out. He had difficulty accessing the zipper that kept him sealed into his wetsuit, but when he did, he shook the thing off of him in a hurry, eager to get the filth and feel of the arena off of him. His accompanying shoes came off, as did his underwear as a standard pair of both were provided to him once the water turned off.

Moving on from the cubicle, he was placed on a bench where every inch of his body was examined for injuries, anything that bled or bruised, anything that could contaminate the people of Thirteen. Besides the normal rough-ups that came with survival in the arena, Haymitch was amazed that the worst of his injuries were his broken nose which the doctors set instantly and his maimed forearms which were scanned for internal injury and then opened back up, only to be sewn into proper healing fashion. The doctors prescribed some physical therapy exercises to perform in the days to come and then provided him with some low-dosage painkillers. He was given a wristband with the list of his injuries on it and then he was allowed to dress with his hair still trickling with water.

His clothing consisted of nothing but a plain navy blue jumpsuit which was some of the most uncomfortable material he had ever been in. His boots were a size too big and his underwear felt like they had been starched beyond repair. When Boone said Thirteen was frugal, he wasn't kidding.

He was neither the first nor the last one to be put through processing as he found Peeta, Plutarch, and Beetee waiting for him. Since Brutus and Caesar had the most pressing injuries and the most blood to wash off, they would of course be coming out last. All of them were in the same outfit as Haymitch, though Plutarch had a white band around his arm which had to have some sort of significance. Callen was standing guard over them as if they were plotting murder and invited Haymitch to take a seat beside them. They waited, all in varying degrees of anxiety with Plutarch looking almost bored, Beetee interested, and Peeta just barely distinguishably nervous as his left heel drummed on the ground. Haymitch kept waiting for the lights to turn red, for a siren to blare as the room compressed and spat out some horrible, torturous form of death.

Brutus joined them next with a limp from getting shot in both the left arm and left hip. He refused to sit when Callen gestured at the bench.

"What are you trying to prove?" asked Beetee. "There's no one here to see you—"

"You want another lump on your head, because I can give you one if you express your opinion when I don't ask for it," Brutus snapped.

"Fighting is prohibited in Thirteen, punishable by quarantine, cut rations, and removal of privileges," said Callen.

"No wonder you people are so uptight," said Haymitch, but Callen ignored his remark.

They had to wait another half hour for Caesar to be done and he came out leaning on a crutch with his leg now in a metal brace. His hand where Enobaria had bitten him was wrapped, making it difficult to use the crutch, but he managed. His other arm was in a sling after taking the knife wound early on in the Games and even Mags's handiwork wasn't enough to keep it clean. He made for quite the site as he staggered toward them and Haymitch grabbed his wrist to read his injury list as well as to see if they had given him medication to control his fits.

They hadn't.

"Didn't you tell them?"

"They already know," said Caesar. "They watched the Games, or at least the higher-ups did and I told them what medication it is, but it's not available here, so until they can find some or an alternative, I just have to deal."

"They expect you to _just deal_ every night, every time it happens? How are you supposed to deal in your condition? You'll break something else or go at it for hours without anyone to know about it."

"You've been assigned to living quarters, as many people as there are bunks in the pods to conserve space," said Callen. "I'll escort you there after you receive your packs."

In the next room over, they were all issued standard bed rolls with a flattened pillow, a toothbrush, a razor, a small tube of toothpaste, a hairbrush, a plastic cup, a towel, a set of pajamas, an extra set of underwear, and for some reason, a navy woolen beanie. Perhaps their heating system wasn't very efficient and the beanies provided extra warmth. Either way, Haymitch jammed it on his head, grateful that it helped to hide some of his face.

"Follow me to the pods."

Not at all impressed with their treatment so far, Haymitch dropped to the back with Caesar and Peeta, allowing Plutarch to ask Callen questions which the soldier answered briefly as if trying to exclude the others from the conversation. They rode the lift down further, took a long, narrow walkway, and found themselves in a cavernous tube with multiple levels of living quarters for all of Thirteen's inhabitants. There was definitely a system in how the people were assigned, but Haymitch couldn't figure it out. All he knew was that there was over forty levels and that if he had to walk up that many flights of stairs, he was going to either have the fittest calves in Panem, or he was going to die of upper respiratory failure.

Callen showed them to a lift that could fit two people at once and he told Haymitch and Peeta to ride it up to the twenty-fourth level. Standing with their shoulders touching, Haymitch and Peeta did as instructed, stepping off when a light appeared over the appropriate floor number. The walkway was more of a scaffolding project, a catwalk that let them see through the floor all the way down to the first level if they lined up the metal holes correctly. There was railing for the side that did not touch the wall and it made Haymitch suddenly wonder if he actually had vertigo.

Brutus and Plutarch came next, finally followed by Callen and Caesar.

"Where's Beetee?" asked Peeta.

"He's been given quarters on the first floor," said Plutarch. "As have I; I just wanted to come and see where you all would be staying."

"Us all?" Haymitch repeated. Surely, they weren't about to stick Haymitch and Caesar into a pod with Brutus when they'd been trying to kill each other mere hours ago? Callen could tell them there was no fighting permitted until he was blue in the face but they were past that; it would be flat-out murder if the doors closed on the 75th Hunger Games survivors being locked in a pod together.

"You're all on the same side now," said Plutarch, though he mainly seemed to be talking to Brutus. "In Thirteen there is no districts, no Capitol, no Games, no glory. Whatever you were outside of here is over; you're now citizens of Thirteen and you'll adhere to their rules which means _no fighting_. Any personal issues you have with each other, speak now so we can address them and get them over with."

"If there's no fight to be had between us, then you can cozy up with him," said Haymitch, nodding at Brutus. "Look at him; he's still fuming, still ready to kill us as soon as he gets the chance and I didn't survive the worst arena in Hunger Games history just to be killed in a grudge match against Brutus Hitower in my sleep. I helped you get your Mockingjay, Plutarch, and I suffered enough and I do not want this man in my pod. I'll sleep out here on the catwalk if I have to, but him and me—it's not happening."

"What does Brutus have against you, personally?" asked Plutarch. "In what way did you wrong him other than trying to survive, as is the nature of the Games?"

That was a very good question. Before the Games, before the Quarter Quell reaping, Haymitch had always been polite to Brutus as far as drunken politeness went. As a successful victor who kept in shape and favor with the Capitol, Brutus was always comfortable making an appearance every year at the Games, but from what Haymitch could remember, Brutus largely ignored him just because that was his nature, not because of personal reasons. Their training had brought about the typical bullying and sizing up but it had been Gloss and Cashmere who had done most of the Career bullying, not Brutus. He followed along with whatever the other Careers were doing and as the sole survivor of the pack, he had fought tooth and nail to come out on top. He had seen Haymitch's efforts firsthand in the Games and admired them, but at the time, didn't know the reasoning behind them. He hadn't wanted to fight when Haymitch made his last stand to defend Katniss.

"There is no fight," said Brutus. "I'm tired, Haymitch, and I don't have to like you to share a pod with you."

"Personally, I see it as putting a cork on a shaken bottle of champagne," said Caesar. "Two head-strong, dominant males in the same pod is bound to have an explosion sooner or later and not necessarily because of the Games. They both have to have the last word, they have to let everyone know they don't put up with bullshit, and putting that much testosterone in a single enclosed space isn't good for the health of Thirteen. But that's just my observation of them after twenty-five years, what do I know?"

"He's not wrong," said Brutus. "I won't start something if you don't, but this doesn't make us friends. Just leave me the hell alone and I'll do the same."

"That's not exactly how this works," said Plutarch. "From what I understand, those who share pods also share meal times and assigned tables so you will have to interact with each other on a daily basis."

"You—are—pushing—it," warned Haymitch.

"Peeta, I'm looking at you to be the mediator between these two, these three if necessary," said Plutarch. "Caesar, you're a smart man and you know when to stop talking, but I hope that I can also trust you to help Peeta keep the peace in pod—what number are they?"

Callen pointed down the catwalk to the very last pod, straight ahead. "2412."

"Right, 2412. Let's not make it the next arena, shall we? Remember, there's no fight left but the one you make yourself. So rest, report to the cafeteria when it's your designated meal time, and recuperate. You all have jobs to do in the days to come."

"And what about me?" asked Haymitch. "I think I deserve to know some things before you send me off to bed like I'm the one who did something wrong here."

"You'll be notified in due time after I've spoken with the superiors here. Expect a summons at some point in the next day or two. Get some sleep, Haymitch," said Plutarch dismissively.

Haymitch wasn't done with Plutarch yet. He wanted a word alone with the Head Gamemaker, somewhere where he would be free to beat the living hell out of the man without having Boone pull him off, but after the way he had gone after Plutarch on the hovercraft, he definitely wasn't getting an audience alone with him. Maybe if he asked Peeta or Beetee to accompany him so at least there would be a witness to claim that Haymitch only partially wanted to throttle him…

Callen unlocked their pod and then told them that there was no way to lock it from inside and that keys were not provided because stealing was a nonexistent problem in Thirteen. Inside, there were two bunk beds built into the wall that could be folded up and stored away to provide more room. There was a small sitting area just off to the right with a bench also built into the wall, then a domed sleeping area with another window between the bunks. On the far left was a water closet with a sink and toilet, but the showers were apparently community-based and Callen informed them that when they received their daily schedules, they would also be told what time they could wash.

"Curfew is at 22:00. If you have any additional questions, the citizens of Thirteen have been instructed to help you adjust to life here. Just remember: no fighting."

With that, Callen left them and as one, the four of them considered their new living quarters. Brutus immediately tossed his pack onto the top left bunk in an obvious claim of it and Peeta lowered the bunk below it before moving across to help get Caesar's set up, which left Haymitch with the bunk above Caesar. It was five and a half feet long which meant he would have to tuck his legs up and Brutus would have a quarter of his body hanging over it no matter what he did. The supplied mattresses were thin and the padding wasn't much to speak of so that even by adding their bed rolls, it wasn't what any of them would call comfortable, though after sleeping on the ground and metal floors, they didn't have much to complain about.

Caesar lowered himself onto his bunk and removed his sling, testing out his injured limb. "Does anyone know what time it is?" he asked.

"Almost ten," said Peeta, consulting a digitalized clock just below the window line. "Oh, excuse me, almost _curfew_."

"They didn't tell us where the women are," Caesar pointed out. "I'm not going to bed until—"

"There they are: 2398," said Brutus, pointing almost lazily out the window to a pod one level down and across from them. Within, Katniss was using a towel to dry out her hair.

"I'll go tell them where we are," volunteered Haymitch.

"I'll come with you," said Peeta.

"No, you stay here." He didn't say why and it wasn't fair because Peeta obviously wanted to say goodnight to Katniss and assure her that he wasn't far away, but Haymitch didn't want to leave Caesar alone with Brutus so he came up with a rather feeble excuse. "I don't want you getting caught out after curfew so soon."

"You're going to be out past curfew," Peeta pointed out.

"Yeah, but see, I don't care, so you just wait here. I'll be back in a few."

He walked the circumference of the catwalk and then descended one flight of stairs, keeping in mind that his new pod mates were most likely watching his every move to either take cues from him or to start suspecting him of something since he was still technically the one in charge after Plutarch of their little rebellion survivors.

At the entrance to the women's pod, Haymitch knocked and heard Effie's shrill, "Come in!"

Opening the sliding door, he found the three of them all sitting on their bunks, dressed in the same blue jumpsuits except Effie had somehow managed to make hers into a skirt and her issued bandana instead of a beanie was wrapped around her head. Her makeup was gone, as was her wig, and yet she had not removed her bald cap and Haymitch couldn't understand why. When he gazed upon her, she hid her face in shame.

"Nice of them to put you ladies together," he said. "Peeta, Caesar, Brutus, and me all share a pod one level up and across from you. If you look out your window, you can Caesar lying on his bunk." Haymitch pointed out his pod where indeed Caesar was lying with his leg propped up on the lower bunk and across from him, Peeta waved with a half-hearted grin at Katniss who waved back. "So no peeping toms from this side."

"It's not like there's much to look at in there," said Katniss with a roll of her eyes, but then caught Brutus watching her and turned her back on the window. "I can't believe they stuck you in a room with Brutus and told you to make nice."

"Well, if I don't come down for breakfast in the morning, you'll know that we couldn't work things out," said Haymitch in a poor attempt at humor.

"That's not funny," said Olathe.

"Where's Beetee?" asked Katniss.

"He has a lower level pod to himself. Plutarch hooked him up because he's needed right away in helping to breach the Capitol's communication lines to get word out to the districts so since they need and want his full cooperation, they're trying to buy him out with a private pod. He'd do it for free, but they assume that since he's a victor, he requires payment upfront."

"Are the districts rioting?" asked Katniss. "Has Snow made a move against them?"

"I'm in the dark about that and we're not supposed to ask. Boone's first lieutenant said that we'll be told when it's a necessity to tell us but Plutarch assured me that you and I would be the first to know so until then, sit tight, or go out and explore in the morning, but I wanted to ask you and Effie, Katniss, if you wouldn't mind going with Olathe just so that she's not alone."

"I'll be fine," said Olathe. "Boone gave everyone orders to leave us alone."

"I'd still feel better if you had company when you leave the pod until you know your way around here," said Haymitch, noticing that Effie was giving Olathe an unpleasant look.

"Well, it's not how you feel that counts and it's not your responsibility to look out for me."

He'd just been through hell, as had every other victor from the Quarter Quell but he was trying so desperately hard to hold it together for everyone involved because he had gotten them here, for better or worse and they couldn't turn to Plutarch for leadership, so they were looking to him still. But he was on the brink and Olathe's words stung him with their ungratefulness.

"Really, after everything we just went through in the arena and on the hovercraft, you're gonna say that to me? I'm not gonna lie, I'm kind of offended right now. You don't get to decide whose job it is to worry about you now that Stele's gone. He gave himself that duty and just because you came alive in the arena doesn't mean you're running at full mental capacity right now. You had a breakdown about having a tracker removed from your arm not even six hours ago and you expect me to send you on your merry way like I wasn't witness to that? I cut the damn thing out of your skin because you wouldn't let anyone else touch you. Caesar and I were the last ones with you before you led Enobaria off and we were the last ones with Stele and he thought you were dead, so he gave himself up to fight Enobaria which meant that it was my job to find you when your face didn't appear in the sky. Stele gave me that job and I'm gonna do it. If you have a problem with that, you're more than welcome to watch the playbacks of the Games, I'm sure they have video up and running by now."

He knew he was being a bit hard on her, but people were not always kind when speaking to each other and she had to get used to that. Stele had protected her for so long from anything that she had become coddled and unable to handle harsh words being spoken to her. And for her to tell Haymitch off for continuing Stele's role was downright hurtful.

"I-I didn't mean—" Olathe stuttered.

"No, I know what you meant; you made it clear enough." He waited for her to say something else, but she hung her head and looked away from him, rubbing at her stitched arm subconsciously. "Now, if you and Katniss wouldn't mind, I need to speak to Effie privately, so shoo, go take another shower or something. You've got about fifteen minutes until curfew."

"Actually, I'd like to go with them," said Effie, trying to squeeze past Haymitch in the doorway but he blocked her off as Katniss and Olathe left them. He shut the door and folded his arms.

"I'm sensing some hostility from you toward Olathe," he observed.

"I can't imagine why that would be. The poor girl's been through a lot today," said Effie airily. "But at least _I_ didn't bite her head off just now with that speech about being her support and wanting respect in return for it."

"She needed to hear that because no one except the people who know her are going to stick up for her here, which now includes you. You can try to be nice to her, you know, it wouldn't kill you. She probably won't even notice you're here but if she does, she could use some feminine support."

"Yes, well as Mister Boone announced loudly before we entered the showers, everyone must be very aware of her condition and cater to her mental needs."

Haymitch couldn't believe what he was hearing. Effie was pouting that she, being a Capitol citizen, wasn't getting preferential treatment from the people in Thirteen and that she was being treated like everyone else. Of all the foolish, self-centered things to get upset about.

"Have a shred of sympathy, Effie, the woman just lost the man she loved and she's completely alone in the world now and she's never been this vulnerable for as long as she's been a victor."

"And I'm not alone?" asked Effie with a sniff. "Everyone who has looked at me knows I'm from the Capitol and glares at me like I'm some sort of dung beetle. But did you tell Katniss and Olathe to accompany _me_ so that I'm not singled out by these ill-dressed hermits?"

Haymitch grabbed her by the shoulders. "You're not damaged; she is, or would you like a mental illness, because everyone who came in on that hovercraft with you has one and we can all tell you that it's not fun. Olathe still has the emotional capacity of a child sometimes but you're a woman and you can take care of yourself and I've never known you to care what the people around you think about you being Capitol-born."

"That's because everyone around me _was_ Capitol-born. Now it's just me in a place that hates everything the Capitol stands for and I'm some sort of monster to them."

"Keeping that bald cap on isn't doing you any favors. Take it off."

"But I—"

"I've seen you without it. You look just like everyone else here with _your_ hair. Now take it off."

With shaking hands, Effie reached up to remove her bandana and then tucked her fingers underneath the bald cap linings. She pulled, wincing slightly as the glue that kept it down peeled off from her skin. Even greased down, her natural blonde hair was still a welcome sight in place of her plastic wigs. She looked away toward the door and Haymitch ran his fingers through her hair to part it.

"Don't be ashamed of how you look naturally. Don't ever be ashamed of that. Now go take another shower to get that grease out."

"I can't. We're only allowed one shower every two days and I just took mine."

"Then don't worry about it, but leave your hair out and let them see you. You're not what the Capitol made you into, remember."

If she was, she would never have taken off her identity for Haymitch alone to see the first time. And he was strongly reminded of what they had done the last time they were alone together as Effie looked at herself in the mirror, close to tears. He wanted to tell her to grow up and get over her fashion catastrophe but had to remind himself that this was a woman who had been told her entire life that her own natural beauty was not permitted and so he had to be patient with her. She would have to learn to love herself because there most likely wasn't a single tube of lipstick in this dungeon of a district to enhance her natural beauty.

"I'll see you at breakfast," he said suddenly, aware that too much time had passed of the two of them being alone in the pod.

"Sleep well," she said airily.

 _I won't_.

Katniss and Olathe hadn't gone far, only to Haymitch's pod where Katniss and Peeta were having a quiet conversation in the sitting area and Olathe was sitting on Caesar's bunk with him. Brutus sat cross-legged on his own bunk, arranging his meager belongings.

"That was some conversation you had with Effie," Katniss observed.

"It was worth the mental trauma," said Haymitch with equal sarcasm. "There's a surprise for you when you get back to your pod, Katniss, which should be now because it's two minutes to ten."

Hugging Peeta for a solid minute, Katniss promised to meet him first thing in the morning and then called to Olathe who had to be ushered out by Caesar. She didn't say a word to Haymitch as she brushed past him and hurried after Katniss to reach their pod in time.

Peeta closed their pod door and as soon as the clock marked 22:00, the main lights went off. Immediately a blue tube of light running along the wall next to each bunk came on so that they were all bathed in an eerie ethereal glow. Haymitch climbed up onto his bunk using the built-in metal rungs at the foot of his bed and collapsed on it without bothering to remove his shoes. He wasn't the only one, for none of them felt like undressing when they were still in flight mode, ready to jump up and run at a moment's notice. Haymitch almost asked which one of them wanted to take first watch.

"Well," said Peeta after he figured out that the bedside tubes could be turned off by pressure, "I guess now we try and sleep, see what happens in the morning."

"I should be able to sleep, but I know it won't happen," said Haymitch, figuring he might as well warn them now in case they woke up to see him pacing the room at odd hours. "I'm exhausted but I'm afraid to close my eyes because I don't know what to expect here."

"Expect that I'll climb down there and knock you out if you don't shut the hell up," said Brutus, jamming his pillow over his head.

"I suppose this would be a bad time to mention the peace Plutarch talked about?" said Caesar.

"I didn't actually hit him, did I? Piss off," muttered Brutus from under his pillow.

"Let it go," said Caesar before Haymitch could get in a response. "Just let it go."

One by one they turned off their bedside lights until Haymitch's was the only one left on. He heard gentle breathing that announced that Peeta had fallen asleep after about an hour and then deeper breathing that told him Brutus had nodded off too. Wondering if Caesar was still awake, Haymitch was about to lean over the side of the bunk and check when he heard Caesar's bedroll fabric move as if disturbed by a sudden bodily twitch. Yes, Caesar was asleep, and dreaming, apparently.

God, how Haymitch wanted to sleep, needed to, but besides his rage at Plutarch and his momentary mental breakdown in Katniss's arms, he hadn't yet accepted the facts. He was safe—in a fashion—Katniss was alive, Peeta and Effie were alive, tributes had survived, they had started the rebellion in getting Katniss here…and nineteen people were dead. Johanna, Mags, Finnick, Kilo, Stele…friends, acquaintances, people, people who had deserved so much better, people who should have died in their first Games to save them the horrifying life of prostitution, addiction, mental instability, and depression that came with victory. Was it relief he felt for them now that they were finally lain to rest? Or was it still, would it always be…grief?

He held his pillow over his face to stifle the sob that so desperately needed to come out. He needed to have a full breakdown, he needed to let it all out and scream and punish Plutarch for getting his hopes up, only to break them with each death and then build them up again only to meet Haymitch's expectation with this new reality of life underground, a survivor, a symbol of the rebellion, a coward for running, a failure for living.

He felt the bunk below him shake and threw his covers off of himself immediately, jumping down to the floor to see Caesar thrashing in his own bunk, awake and unable to help himself. Haymitch sat down on the bunk with him, holding him, for it was all he could do.

Brutus sat up in alarm, fists curling as his only method of protecting himself. He saw Haymitch struggling with Caesar, but Haymitch shook his head. He didn't want Brutus helping, even if his pod mate did offer, which he didn't. Instead, he just watched as Haymitch held Caesar down and tried to shush his shouts.

"Is he having a seizure?" asked Brutus after ten minutes with no change.

"No, it's something else. It'll pass."

"If he keeps going on like this, he needs medical help," said Peeta, who had long since offered to help as well, though Haymitch wouldn't let him.

"Yeah, well these idiots in Thirteen knew that this would happen to him and their solution was to send him to the pod anyway and tell him to tough it out, so what the hell do you suggest we do?" snapped Haymitch. He knew he was in the wrong for lashing out at Peeta, but his anger at Thirteen's dismissal of anything non-physical was just the tip of the iceberg when it came to the problems of this place.

After another grueling half hour of battling with Caesar's body, he finally went limp in Haymitch's arms, sweaty, spent, and sobbing without the emotion. Tears ran down from both eyes, but his eyes were wide open, focused on the ceiling, and not showing pain or sorrow. It was the physical exertion the fit had caused that brought about his tears. He was done.

Haymitch set him back down, asked if he was okay, and received a slight nod in response. At least he knew Caesar was mentally still with them.

Climbing back up, he face-flopped into his bed roll and heard Brutus ask, "What happens if he gets another fit?"

"Then wake me up to deal with it," said Haymitch.

He did have another fit, though a small one that only involved a moment or two of violent twisting before it ended. It wasn't enough to wake Brutus or Peeta, though it kept Haymitch awake just when his body had finally been ready to give in. Thanks to the high-alert protocol that came with being Caesar's only form of aid, Haymitch stayed awake through the night, waiting for his turn to go to pieces when his body had finally had enough.


	16. Chapter 16: The Face of the Rebellion

The interior pod lights came on automatically at six, but Haymitch didn't even wince as they hit his eyes at full force. Not one bit of sleep and the effects were starting to take their toll on him, for he sat up sluggishly and almost fell out of his bunk when he tried to jump down. The mirror in the water closet showed dark purple half-circles under his eyes, but all he could do to hide them was position some of his hair in front of his face and pull his beanie down tighter. His pod mates didn't look much better, but of the four of them, passerby could tell which one hadn't gotten any sleep by expression alone because Haymitch looked half-mad.

Peeta asked if they should head to the cafeteria, but a quick peek down at the women's pod showed that they hadn't left yet and Haymitch didn't want to take their merry band of outsiders through the unfamiliar passageways of Thirteen just yet, so he told them all to wait and see if Boone, Callen, or some other soldier came for them as an escort. Outside the pod, daily life commenced as people left in waves to attend breakfast but Haymitch kept the blinds shut so that no one could peek inside and see four victors twiddling their thumbs.

They all lay back down, none of them speaking for a good half hour before Caesar finally asked a question that Haymitch had been curious about, but didn't dare pose to Brutus to avoid confrontation.

"How did you get separated from Enobaria and Tyrek?"

Brutus didn't acknowledge Caesar, so Peeta explained that the Careers had been split when Tyrek activated one of the pressure panels that made a wall spring up between the four of them with Tyrek and Enobaria on one side and Brutus and Gloss on the other. The former two then ended up in the skywalk city where Tyrek killed Enid while Brutus and Gloss had a mostly uneventful time apart from outrunning a few death compartments. Gloss had heard the alliance coming in one of the passageways and waited, hoping for Caesar but getting August, Zelic, Amara, Beetee, and Katniss instead. He sacrificed his spear to take out Amara who had put herself between it and her husband. Zelic then tried to pursue them as Brutus and Gloss took off in the opposite direction and stumbled into the stone pillar arena where they found Kilo. After killing him, they went back the way they had come since Haymitch and Caesar had blocked them off from following them and then Gloss stumbled into Zelic who had gone off on his own in search of his wife's murderer. The pursuit ended in the Cornucopia cavern, as Haymitch and Caesar knew, but Peeta hadn't witnessed the last part because by then, Plutarch had pulled him and Effie from the Gamemaker Headquarters aboard the rebel hovercraft.

"Since neither Zelic nor Gloss are here, I'm assuming Zelic caught up to Gloss?" asked Peeta.

Haymitch nodded, but then realized Peeta couldn't see him do so atop his bunk, so he voiced it aloud. "Double kill." It was all he could say because that death had shaken him more than any other and it hurt to relive it just yet.

"Then Gloss had the most kills at three and even that is hardly anything when you consider how blown out the Games were and how the odds had him stacked up against Brutus, Finnick, Katniss, and even his sister," said Peeta. "Blight, Amara, and Zelic were never contenders for the top."

Haymitch didn't find this fascinating at all. He didn't want to know about the scoreboard or the tribute rankings or who the odds favored to win. And for Peeta to talk about it so nonchalantly was more than he could take because the boy didn't know those people who had died, didn't care to the level that Haymitch did.

"I've got an idea; let's not talk about that," he said sharply.

"I'm sorry, I'm just pointing facts out. I mean, besides Brutus and Katniss, none of you were supposed to make it to the final eight and I don't know if that's Plutarch's doing in choosing who he let die or you all working so hard to keep each other alive but even then, you would think that strong competitors would have survived. And besides the Careers, those strong competitors were taken out by the Games, not the other tributes."

That was something to consider, though Haymitch wasn't sure what to make of it. He supposed the reason Plutarch was having such a field day was because no one was dying like they were supposed to and the audience was expecting a spectacle, so he had to not only satisfy their needs, but be aware of how it all looked to Snow at the same time.

"It was supposed to be the bloodiest match of all time," said Caesar. "Experienced killers killing for greater glory, only they weren't and they didn't. The Careers themselves didn't get to hunt and pick off like they normally do." The exception to this was Ramie, but Haymitch could forgive Caesar for not bringing her up and in any case, she was mentally unstable with several screws loose in her brain to make her the predatory sexual addict she was. "From the start, the Careers killed the ones who weren't going to make it. The bloodbath should have been unpredictable with both weak and strong tributes going down, but it was only Cashmere and the rest were—by Capitol standards—a disappointment."

Wiress, Demi, Blight, Cashmere. And Crescere a few hours later. Probably the least bloody bloodbath in years and a major backfire on the Gamemakers who had promised the audience a showdown for the ages. Despite the firsthand gore and violence and all the attempts to push the tributes together to kill each other off, the arena had more satisfying victims than the tributes. He ran over the tally in his head: Johanna, Finnick, Stele, Farrow, and August had all been victim to a Gamemaker creation while Cashmere, Gloss, and Enobaria had been the only tributes to die spectacularly at the hands of another. Tyrek's death was an act of vengeance and Ramie's had been hidden in smoke. It made for boring television.

"So Peeta is right," continued Caesar. "Considering that a single Career can have upwards of six or seven kills apiece, the 75th Games was an enormous letdown. Gloss had three and everyone else had less and really, the only kill that would have given the audience anything to root for was against Zelic because Amara was never going to last against Gloss and Blight didn't know how to use a sword."

"He was saving his energy for you," said Brutus nastily. "Couldn't get his head in the Game and spent the rest of his time looking for you. Turned out to be a useless ally."

"You didn't do any outstanding killing yourself," said Haymitch. "You didn't take down any opponent that gave you a fight. Your kill count was two: Wiress and Kilo. Three if you count that you cut August's leg and he couldn't get out in time, but I don't consider him to be a Game fatality. You killed a brain damaged woman and a morphling addict, congratulations."

"I'll bet you're wishing that I was on that kill count for you," shot back Brutus, raising himself up onto his elbows to look across at Haymitch.

"I'm satisfied with my kill," said Haymitch scathingly. He didn't want to rub Brutus's former lover's death in the man's face but Brutus would rewatch the Games at some point and it was better to tell him now than wait in anticipation of him to snap. "It was Enobaria, in case you were wondering and before you say anything, taking revenge on me won't change anything. She was your friend, if you could call her that, but she never wanted more than that, she was selfish, and you were only useful to her as long as you kept her alive. You'd be stupid coming at me in the name of your so-called love for her."

Brutus didn't have the reaction Haymitch expected at all. He lay back down and stared at the ceiling, no doubt wondering in what manner Haymitch had killed his district partner.

"Sex isn't love," he said after a while. "It's just what happened, and then it was over but I knew her best out of all the other tributes, so I stuck with her. I'd have been an idiot not to. She told us to kill quickly, no playing around, no making a show for the Capitol, and we did—except Ramie. No one deserved a drawn-out death so we tried to make it quick for those we killed. I'm assuming you did the same for Tyrek and Enobaria."

"Quick as possible," Caesar confirmed. "If any of the tributes' deaths were drawn-out, it was by the Gamemakers' doing, not ours."

"Stele," said Peeta quietly. "I mean, unless you count Cashmere who was strangled to death, but even then, it was quick. But Enobaria stabbed Stele in the gut, enough to take him out of the running, but not enough to die. He was bleeding badly, though in the end, he died from the exhaust poisoning, not Enobaria. And then Mags froze, which wasn't too quick, and—and Finnick, well, you all know how that ended."

"No, we don't all know," said Brutus, waiting expectantly for Peeta to elaborate.

"It wasn't quick," said Caesar.

Haymitch pulled his beanie down over his eyes to block out the light as if he could also block out the sound of Finnick's bones snapping.

A knock on the door and the face of Callen announced breakfast time.

 _Good, I'm famished._

They met Beetee on the main floor and joined up with the women at the lift that took them down a few levels to the cafeteria. It was large enough to house about a hundred people at once in various rounded tables with matching benches, fitting two to a bench. A procession line at the back of the room showed where they could pick up their plain, calorie-specific meals that were enough to sustain until the next meal with nothing more. Haymitch accepted his tray of tea, porridge with dried prunes, and heel of tacky, lumpy bread that could have used a few more minutes in the oven. Callen escorted them to a table near the wall, just underneath one of the eight or so televisions that were broadcasting anything from Capitol commercials to live footage of the districts.

Haymitch had spent over half of his life being watched and so he knew that every eye in the vicinity was on them. Unlike in the Capitol though, here he could make these people back off by shooting them a dirty look, which he did now at a group of men at their neighboring table. The men went back to their meal, muttering quietly with their heads pressed together, no doubt discussing these outsiders from the districts and the Capitol.

With a spotlight on them no matter how many glares Haymitch dished out, they looked to the television for any news of the happenings since the arena collapsed. Effie was the only one who had something to complain about where the food was concerned but when Haymitch offered to eat her portion for her, leaving her with nothing, she pursed her lips and picked moodily at it. Caesar, Peeta, and Brutus looked especially surprised to see her with hair (even though she still had her bandanna on over it), though Beetee had nothing to say on the matter at all, too engrossed in a book that Plutarch had provided him with.

"Your hair is beautiful, Effie," said Peeta as Effie kept subconsciously running her fingers through it.

"Please, not here," said Effie. "It's a mess. It's not clean—"

"And it's blonde," said Caesar. "Mine is grey, would you like to swap?"

Blond would have clashed horribly with Caesar's dark eyebrows, but he got his point across and Effie said nothing else, though Haymitch could tell that she was wishing she had kept her bald cap on.

"You look like my mother and Prim," said Katniss. "Natural blonde. You fit right in here. No one is looking at you like they are at us. You don't stand out."

Coming from a place where the more outlandish, elaborate the clothing, the better, Haymitch knew Effie didn't take that as a compliment.

The televisions suddenly increased in volume, filling the cafeteria with the Capitol's news-themed anthem as the face of Claudius Templesmith appeared on every screen. Claudius had clearly taken over Caesar's duties, but he couldn't hold a candle to Caesar's natural onscreen talent. Caesar had a booming personality and could make even awful news sound uplifting. Whatever he had to say, people took it seriously, but Claudius sounded like a drone, though now that he had seen Caesar's true self and seen how much his friend hated the system, perhaps he was not acting disgusted as the faces of the escaped tributes appeared on the screen behind him.

"Good morning, I am Claudius Templesmith for Capitol News. A reminder to the public after the abrupt end to yesterday's Games that Peacekeepers and Capitol soldiers are still on the lookout for the survivors of the arena. While they pose no immediate threat to the well-being of daily life in the Capitol, President Snow has issued warrants for all of them. These are wanted criminals, highly dangerous, and vicious," said Claudius, sounding almost bored in reading his cue cards since half of his job had always been repartee with Caesar and now with just him, he had no chance at improve, delivering the lines Snow had provided for him. "Anyone caught harboring them will have the Capitol's swift justice brought down upon them. Any sightings of them should be reported immediately to your local Peacekeepers who are standing by and there to protect you. In the Capitol, or in the districts, anyone who offers these criminals assistance will be seen as equally guilty."

A cool, female voice announced each tribute as their face appeared on screen. The voice gave the name and a quick description of each person as well as the bounty on their heads. First was Katniss, of course, the Mockingjay, symbol of the rebellio; then Peeta, her lover and an equal traitor. Then Haymitch's own face appeared and to see his tribute portrait displayed back at him, he was rather impressed with himself for looking both pissed off and somewhat majestic in his expression. Brutus, Olathe, Beetee, and Plutarch all were given their moment in the criminal limelight, and then Haymitch had to grin as he saw Caesar's face appear. It was a screenshot taken from the Games since he never got the chance to have his training picture taken and it showed Caesar standing guard over them as they slept in the eternal night world. They had used what he looked like now, not what the Capitol knew him best by. Already, the Capitol had tossed him and his image out.

"Caesar Flickerman, former Capitol resident and Master of Ceremonies. Forty-five, brown eyes, grey hair, one hundred and thirty-two pounds. Survivor of the 75th Hunger Games and known rebel, last reported sighting in the most recent arena. Crimes against the Capitol: treason, extortion. Reward: to be announced. Wanted Alive for questioning."

"Extortion," repeated Peeta. "You're a dangerous man, Caesar."

A photo of Effie at the 75th reapings was used for her profile and frankly, Haymitch was surprised to see her up there at all since she was of little consequence to the Capitol, but this was why he had Peeta and Plutarch rescue her in the first place; if she had remained behind, they would have tortured her for knowledge about him, Peeta, and Katniss.

"Effie Trinket, former Capitol resident and District 12 escort. Thirty-six, hazel eyes, hair color varying, one hundred and sixteen pounds estimated. Affiliated with Katniss Everdeen and Haymitch Abernathy, last reported sighting at the Tribute Center. Crimes against the Capitol: treason. Reward: to be announced. Wanted Dead or Alive."

"The angle isn't at all flattering," said Effie, gazing up at her portrait and adjusting her naturally wavy hair on her shoulders with a sigh. "But that was one of my favorite wigs."

"Oh, shut up, this is serious," said Brutus. "You heard what they said; wanted dead or alive because Snow knows you're not smart enough to have any useful information so it doesn't matter if they bring you back in a body bag or not."

"Try talking to her again like that and see what happens," snapped Haymitch, leaning forward over the table. He had a short fuse after their conversation this morning and an even shorter tolerance due to his lack of sleep.

"Or what, you plan on taking me single-handed again because we both know you couldn't take me alone in the arena. I broke your nose once, I'll shove it up into your skull this time—"

"No, you'll sit there and finish your meal quietly," said Caesar without looking up from his porridge.

"And you think you can give me orders?" demanded Brutus.

"It's a heavily weighted suggestion because fighting isn't tolerated here. The districts are united now and the only reason you have for not getting along with any of us is because you were the last Career left. You have no reason to hate us now because we're on the same side and our energy is better spent fighting the Capitol, not amongst each other."

"You sound like a low-budget propaganda film, Flickerman."

"If you don't like it, you're welcome to move to another table, but if you sit here, you'll show due respect."

"Respect for a brainless Capitol airhead, a depressed drunkard, a two-faced traitor, a brainiac who's too interested in history book to pay attention, and the Star-Crossed Lovers that make me want to puke?"

"You're forgetting someone," said Peeta.

"I don't count people that aren't mentally here," said Brutus with a careless glance over Olathe.

"That's not her choice and she never did anything to you, so you have no fight with her either."

"Yes, he does," said Olathe, surprising them all. She wouldn't look Brutus in the face when she spoke, but she twisted her spoon over and over in her fingers. "He…pursued me for a time, asking for me at every Games to speak with me privately. When he made it clear what he wanted, I-I got scared and I ran for it. Stele didn't let him come to ask me again and they got into it a few times behind the scenes."

"Please, honey, you're not worth getting into a scrap over," said Brutus coldy.

Rising up out of his seat, Haymitch gripped the edges of his tray. "I'm gonna give you one chance to walk away without needing surgical repair to your face. You're being deliberately cruel now."

"Haymitch, please, don't do anything," said Olathe urgently, tugging at his sleeve.

"You're full of shit, Haymitch. You can't protect her anymore than you could protect the rest of the victors who died in the arena because you're focused on the Mockingjay. We're all wanted criminals now and Snow will execute whoever he has to in order to weed us out which means that war is already here and she brought it. When you pull your head out of your ass and realize that innocent people are going to die because everyone's obsessed with her and her shooting skills and not focused on the actual problem of needing soldiers, not symbols, come try me again."

Haymitch struck Brutus across the face with his tray, flinging porridge and prunes everywhere. The cafeteria went quiet and two soldiers near the door started to approach but Brutus waved them off sarcastically.

"Don't bother, Haymitch Abernathy only hits people when he knows they can't hit back."

"I'll hit you again, just watch me."

"No, you won't. Sit down," said Caesar, trying his best to separate Haymitch and Brutus with the table already between them.

"Learn to sleep with your eyes open, Haymitch," said Brutus, and then stomped off.

"Haymitch, that wasn't seemly," Effie scolded once Haymitch settled back down onto his bench.

"Are you shitting me right now? He's the one who came after everyone at this table but _I'm_ the insensitive one?"

"He didn't back me into a corner, Haymitch," said Olathe. "He just told me that he liked me and he knew it would be hard for me to trust him, but he wanted me to give him a chance. It was only three years after my Games and I was still so broken, I didn't know what to do. After, he came to me again and apologized, said he understood why I couldn't accept him, and left me alone. I never told Stele, so Stele kept him away."

"So he's the asshole that he is because he got turned down by a woman he had a crush on?" asked Haymitch.

"Not completely, but I know he's still angry about it. But he's never been friends with the other victors so he can't connect to us. He feels alone right now."

"I wish you'd have told me that before I smashed my tray into his face. Now _I_ feel like an ass," said Haymitch. "And I share a pod with the bastard."

"So learn to sleep with your eyes open," Caesar suggested.

"I'll smack you upside the head too, don't push me."

"He shouldn't have said the things he did and you shouldn't have hit him," said Peeta. "You were both in the wrong, so make it up to him later and be the bigger man in apologizing, however difficult that may be for you."

"Mister Abernathy, Miss Everdeen," said a soldier who had approached their table quietly without any of them noticing. He didn't have the look of someone from Thirteen, not quite worn down by the strictness of it all as if he had lived a life outside of this place once and had to adapt. Haymitch would almost have gone to say he looked familiar, but he couldn't place the man.

"Please come with me. I've been instructed by Commander Boone to take you to see the president."

"The who, now?" said Haymitch, suddenly arming himself with his plastic fork at the mention of a president.

"The President of Thirteen, sir. This way, please."

Peeta immediately made a noise of protest, wanting to accompany them, but the soldier insisted that only Haymitch and Katniss follow. Shooting her a lock that warned her to run if they became cornered, Haymitch followed first. He didn't take much notice of where they were going, only how to get back to the cafeteria, noting escape routes even though he knew it was useless with how many guards there were to take him down as soon as he tried to make a break for it.

They arrived outside a sliding metal door, reminiscent of the underwater city and Haymitch stopped so suddenly that Katniss collided with him from behind. Death compartments, sub-arenas, traps on the other side, Haymitch had no desire to meet any of them by walking through that doorway and the soldier appeared to guess the reason for his hesitation.

"Ambassador Heavensbee is in there as well, sir. You are completely safe here. No citizens of Thirteen will harm you."

"What's your name, soldier?"

"Soldier Dagan Iverson, sir."

"Okay, kiddo, no offense, but I don't believe a word of it. You don't just start a rebellion and feel completely safe in a new place so if you want me to trust you, gimme your gun when I walk in there."

"That's against protocol—"

"Then I'm not going in there and neither is she," said Haymitch, turning around to start back up the corridor.

The sliding door opened and Plutarch stuck his head out. "Trouble?" he asked genially. "Haymitch, come on, they're waiting for you."

Seeing Plutarch inside didn't ease Haymitch's anxiety, but Katniss and him had a silent battle of wills and she apparently trusted the room beyond and pulled him along when he was still reluctant to go any further. Inside was a thick metallic table built into the floor and numerous projections, maps, and schematics lining the walls. Dismal, dreary, but not deadly.

Boone was inside and showed Haymitch and Katniss to two seats length-wise opposite from a man and a woman sitting who were unremarkable in their similar outfits. The man had graying hair that looked like the wind had gotten a hold of it in one direction only and made it scatter all over his head. He had eyebrows that were much too thick for his beady, alert black eyes that suggested either brilliance or madness. The woman had rather large lips that looked like they were stretched over a prominent overbite and it gave the impression that she was trying to hold back from interjecting into every conversation she heard. Her face was narrow almost to the point of having her features squished onto it and she had what looked like burn scars on her neck. Yet, she shared some sort of quality with the man that Haymitch couldn't place.

Neither of them rose to greet Haymitch and Katniss, the first sign of people who were in a position of power and didn't come down to the people's level at risk of losing even an ounce of that power.

"Welcome, victors, to District 13," said the man. "I hope Commander Boone was hospitable and upheld our standards that we expect of our residents in showing you around your new home. I am President Valerian Sharpe and this is my sister, Senior Commander Faustina Sharpe-Groves."

Capitol names, another sign of trouble.

"Not Capitol-born, if that's what you're wondering," said the commander, reading Haymitch's surprised expression like a book. "No, our grandparents fled the Capitol in their day, made it here to Thirteen, and helped make it what it is today. The tradition of keeping the first names tied in with Capitol roots is nothing but that—tradition. You may address me as Commander Groves, my second late-husband's surname since my brother takes the title of President. If you have preferences as to what you would like to be called, please let us know."

"Not 'victors', to start with," said Haymitch, sitting on the edge of his chair, ready to spring up and out of it if need be.

"But that is what you are, what both of you are as well as your companions apart from Effie Trinket and Ambassador Heavensbee," said Sharpe. "It's because you are victors that people paid attention to you and once you plunged forward into the Quarter Quell all but singing of rebellion, you became rebels, which is why you are here. The plan was to procure Katniss before the Quell, but when President Snow announced that the tributes would be victors, we had to do some major recalculating and it's thanks to Ambassador Heavensbee that we were able to rescue as many of you as we did, though I'm sure both of you know that if that plan had gone awry, Katniss was the ultimate goal. For that, I thank you, Haymitch."

Leaving no time for response from Haymitch, the president's sister cut in. "As prior Capitol citizens, Caesar Flickerman, Plutarch Heavensbee, and Effie Trinket have been granted amnesty, but they are the few exceptions. It's absolutely forbidden to bring Capitol residents into Thirteen, as it puts us at risk of exposing our whereabouts to the opposing President Snow and so far, he doesn't have the slightest idea of where you all have gone or what you are planning. He doesn't know you have an entire military district backing you."

"Do we?" said Katniss. "What for?"

"For war, Miss Everdeen. Surely you knew war was coming after you became a contender yet again in the Games? Snow did it to silence you and the other victors, but the districts were not so easily sedated in having their victors taken away. The Capitol was outraged by the Games because of their love for the victors, however artificial, but the districts were outraged because they saw Snow's attempts to drown out what had given them hope. We seized that hope and fed it life when we rescued you, though we didn't expect as many survivors as we received. Though Commander Boone has undoubtedly told you our protocol here, I will remind you that violence against another citizen is not tolerated and so I will hold both of you accountable for any trouble or injury caused by anyone in your party which includes those you don't get along with. We have given back your lives as they were stolen from you entering these Games and in return, we expect complete cooperation, or there is nothing else to be discussed here."

In other words, they had to do as ordered or be thrown out-or killed.

"Let's invite the rest of your fellow victors in now, as this involves all of you," said Sharpe.

Led by Peeta, Caesar, Brutus, Olathe, and Beetee came in and took seats to either side of Haymitch and Katniss. Once they had gathered, the president and commander made their introductions again, retold the story of their coming-into-being, and conveniently left out the finer bits like how they all had to shape up or be removed from Thirteen's history.

"Before we address the immediate issues at hand, we invite you all to voice any concerns you might have. We want everyone's full cooperation once we begin."

"Snow had Claudius Templesmith broadcast to the nation that anyone associated with us is to be eliminated which includes the families and friends of the victors not even an hour ago," said Caesar. "What preparations did you make for them, if any?"

"As soon as we found out who the survivors of the Quell were, we sent covert teams to the respective districts to retrieve immediate family members. Fortunately or not, only Katniss and Brutus have living family members, as all others have been deceased for a time, though we also contacted Peeta's family as well even though he himself did not compete in the most recent Games."

It wasn't by fortune, but by coincidence. Families of victors just didn't last long. The parents, though now able to live in comfort, died before they hit a ripe age. The siblings broke off from the family victor. Friends distanced themselves as the victors became Capitol byproducts and the victors lived out their days alone, seeking sexual company to compete with the loneliness or embracing it in the form of addiction. The only friends they had were fellow victors who they saw once or twice a year. The life of a victor meant a life of riches and solitude.

Haymitch had known that Olathe had no living family back in Nine, but he expected Beetee to have someone, so it came as a surprise that Beetee was alone but that Brutus still had relatives.

"But there were complications," continued Groves. "District 12 is our neighbor and we were able to reach the Everdeen and Mellark families quite quickly but District 2 is far out of the way and by the time our team located the Hitower residence, they were too late. I am sorry, Brutus."

To his credit, Brutus had no reaction. They all continued to watch him in the silence that followed and he spun from side to side in his chair like he was enjoying himself.

"If you're waiting for me to say something profound in memory of the dead man they found in my home, get yourself some coffee because it's not coming. The bastard can stink up the house and rot there until they burn it down."

Daddy issues. Brutus came from a family with daddy issues which explained so much, his need to protect other people who were beaten on by bigger, stronger opponents, his obsession with Olathe. Haymitch wondered if Brutus had taken the beatings himself and then turned them back on his father when he won his Games but if he had, why then, did his father still live in the Victor's Village? Really, Haymitch couldn't relate at all because his father had died of pneumonia when Haymitch was only four or five and he never felt the sting of a parent's hand in punishment. If Brutus's father had beaten him regularly, why didn't Brutus throw the man out into the cold once he emerged victorious?

"Didn't you have a sister?" asked Caesar carefully.

"She's not there," said Brutus with certainty. "I gave her money to get out of Two when I came home from the first Games and I haven't seen her since. Wherever she is, she's safe and she doesn't use the family name anymore."

"But our families are safe?" asked Peeta. "My parents and my brothers, Katniss's mother and sister?"

"They arrived in Thirteen this morning. You'll be able to see them at the conclusion of this meeting," said Groves.

"What about Gale?" asked Katniss pressingly. "My-my cousin Gale Hawthorne and his family?"

"Your _cousins_ were brought here as well," said Sharpe, his tone inflecting that he knew good and well that Gale was not in any way related to Katniss.

Murmuring a note of thanks, Katniss shared a smile of relief with Peeta, the first real smile Haymitch had seen out of her in a long time. What a stroke of luck that they had managed to get everyone out in time, except they hadn't, and Haymitch cursed himself for realizing that it took him so long to think of them.

"What about our stylists?" he said to cut the congratulatory tone short. "Our prep teams? Cinna and Portia designed rebellion-inspired wardrobes for us; they knew what Plutarch was doing. Were they evacuated?"

Plutarch had the decency to look shamed and Haymitch's stomach dropped right out of his body. He appealed to Peeta.

"I told you to get them out. The very last thing I said to you was to get all of them out."

"I tried, but they never came back from the Launch Rooms," said Peeta, all relief at the news of his family now gone from his face. "I waited for them to contact me and even sent messengers to their apartments but there was no word. I was afraid of what had happened to them, but I had to concentrate on you and Katniss."

"I told Portia to leave during the interviews. I told her to leave," Haymitch insisted, finding that it was imperative for them all to understand that he had done everything he could to get his stylist and Katniss's to safety, but the real power in that was in the hands of the people on the outside like Plutarch and Peeta.

"You," said Haymitch, rounding on Plutarch. "Why didn't you do something? They were as much a part of this as anyone, more than Effie and Peeta. They were in on it from the beginning and if Snow has a hold of them…" He didn't finish. He couldn't. They all knew what Snow would do to them.

"Like Peeta said," Plutarch reasoned, "They weren't to be found. They had either tried to go into hiding themselves and were caught or Snow seized them right after launch. I had made arrangements to have them escorted out with us but Snow was one step ahead of me in that regard. It was lucky I managed to grab Miss Trinket because I have intel that her apartment was broken into and stripped in search of her after the arena fell."

Haymitch didn't believe what he was hearing. To Plutarch, it sounded like not being able to save Cinna and Portia was a minor inconvenience. The lives of two people who had helped him stage his stupid coup were nothing to a man who had connections on both sides.

"This is war, Haymitch, and you can never, ever save everyone; it just isn't realistic. Cinna and Portia knew what I was asking when they agreed to help me; they knew the risks and they still went through with it. We should be thankful for their sacrifice and honor them."

There was nothing within reach to throw at Plutarch, but that didn't mean Haymitch wasn't considering all the ways in which he could hurt the man. He would have too, if he hadn't felt Caesar kick him under the table and give him a silent look that said: _don't_.

He had no ally in this fit of rage, no one who understood the loss of these two extraordinarily brave people—except Katniss and Peeta. They knew the stylists, respected them, and would now mourn them, for there was nothing else to do. If they weren't already dead, they would be soon, and no explosion of emotion would bring them back. Katniss had covered her face with her hands while Peeta wrapped his arm around her but Haymitch didn't have the luxury of a loved one to comfort him so he brought his knees up to his chest and pulled the beanie down to cover his eyes once again.

Calm, breathe…calm… _breathe…_

There was a hand on his head, untangling the few strands of hair not tucked under his beanie. He recognized the fingers that combed out the matts and felt disgusted with himself for what he had said to their owner the night before. He gave himself a minute or two to accept the affection and use it to calm his inner storm before he emerged. There was still work to be done and he couldn't go to pieces at every turn, not when these people of Thirteen were watching him so closely.

When he came out from under his beanie, Olathe touched his shoulder and he got a quick look around the room to see how his actions had impacted the others. No one was paying him much attention in an attempt to be tactful, but Brutus was eyeing him with something that looked like pain etched into his face. Olathe went to sit down and Haymitch pulled himself properly back up to the table.

"The Capitol hasn't broadcasted a replay of the Games," said Plutarch as if there hadn't been a casual discussion about the deaths of two of their allies. "But we managed to liberate some tapes from them anyway and we have a young film producer here in Thirteen, originally from District 1, who has agreed to cut the footage together with my help so that we can create our own story of the Quarter Quell. We've taken clips of all of the victors in a very specific way that we think will stir up the rebellion in the districts and call them to our cause."

"They already saw what we did in the arena and if they weren't moved by that, replaying clips won't change their minds," said Katniss. "Even without the Capitol showing us all off as criminals, they have to have something to fight for and following a couple of victors who fled in an unknown hovercraft won't inspire anyone."

"People often look at the Games overall, death by death, not moment by moment. Not until the victor is crowned do they look back on the story that was told throughout," said Plutarch. "When you and Peeta won, Katniss, there was already the potential of the Star-Crossed Lovers, but then Rue and the Careers and Thresh came into the mix. The people were following so many angles that you and Peeta's story got lost in the dust until you found each other again and even then, small moments weren't recalled by the audience until your story was intercut in a very specific way. It's exactly the same for these Games. Watch what we have so far and tell me the story that you see here."

The lights went out and the screen behind the president and commander projected the victors emerging from their pedestals. The camera focused on each of their faces, one at a time and then gave a layered flash to them clutching their district partner either during the Tribute Parade or the interviews. The gong sounded and a wave washed over the screen, only to be replaced with Zelic and Amara running to pull Katniss into the protective dome of the underwater force field. Then Caesar was throwing Cashmere off of Katniss. One after the other, there were scenes of both the alliance and the Careers protecting each other from other tributes and the horrors of the Games. Mags used her skills to patch up Caesar after he took a knife for Haymitch. Brutus dislocated his arm pulling Gloss up out of the way in a room full of death beams and then popped it back into place. Olathe held Haymitch after the loss of Finnick in the midnight world. Enobaria consoled Gloss as he wept for his sister.

And finally, Brutus took down some sort of alligator mutt that had cornered Olathe in an eco system made of knee-deep swamp. He skewered the thing through the head and Olathe trembled in the aftermath, watching its corrupted form twitch in death, but Brutus held out the butt of his axe and Olathe took it, watching him for reaction, waiting for him to kill her. He said nothing, considering her, and then he took her hand and led her through the swamp to the door that would lead them back into the real arena. It was there that he let go of her and then ran.

Editorial notes came on as the film cut out, abruptly ending the rebellion-made film that had admittedly engrossed Haymitch but as he rubbed at his eyes once the lights came back on, he swung around in his chair to look at Brutus who was lifting a pencil from point to tip over and over, watching him with ready eyes.

"Something to say?' he challenged.

"No, I'm waiting for you," Haymitch invited.

"Then wait."

"I'll fill in the blanks here," said Plutarch impatiently. "Olathe drew the cat mutt to Enobaria, but I had the other Gamemakers open a portal to deposit her in the swamp when it seemed like the cat was going to get her. At this point, the Careers had been separated with Brutus ending up in the swamp as well, Enobaria finding the rocky arena, and Gloss finding what remained of your alliance. I didn't plan it that way, but Snow wanted things moving along so once I saw what sort of matchups we had going, I thought that Gloss against August, Enobaria against Haymitch, Caesar, and Stele, and Brutus against Olathe would occupy the president long enough for me to put in the call to Thirteen that we were coming up on the end. The odds favored the Careers winning on all accounts but as you already know, Gloss killed Amara, not August, Enobaria lost to Haymitch and Caesar, and Brutus spared Olathe. I wasn't prepared for that last surprise, but in the end, the time it took him to find Olathe, lead her out, and then run from her was enough to line up perfectly with what was happening with Gloss and Zelic so that I could send in the last parachute at just the right time with enough bloodlust to hold the audience and Snow over as I made my exit from the Gamemakers' Headquarters."

"You deliberately dropped Brutus into the same sub-arena as Olathe?" asked Beetee. "Knowing that she never stood a chance?"

"If he had killed her, it would have been kinder than to let her wander around in that swamp to live out her last moments crying for Stele," said Plutarch.

"Oh, because we all know that Gamemakers are big on kindness and humanity when it comes to the well-being of the tributes," said Haymitch, seething. "You dropped her in that swamp to begin with to shake things up for Snow and then you added Brutus for the hell of it? Did you have it out for her?"

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here," said Olathe, sitting forward in her seat with her lower lip trembling.

"Then say something to him!" urged Haymitch, jabbing his thumb at Plutarch. "Tell him off for doing that to you!"

"I didn't die," said Olathe. "Brutus found me and we both survived. Plutarch had nothing to do with Brutus's actions."

"Why didn't you kill her?" Haymitch asked Brutus since Olathe obviously wasn't going to be of much help in attacking Plutarch.

"I think that was established at breakfast," said Caesar.

"Fuck— _off_ , Flickerman," said Brutus.

"It couldn't have anything to do with your penchant for fashioning yourself as a hero of the mistreated, could it?" asked Plutarch. "You, who took the term bodyguard to an entirely different level for Olathe, Enobaria—even though she never needed one—and for one estranged sister back in District 2. That last bit was your father's doing, wasn't it, why you didn't seem especially fazed about his death?"

"You'd better keep your damn mouth shut unless you want someone spilling some dirt about you," Brutus threatened. "Dammit, why are you all looking at me like I'm some sort of monster for defending other people?"

"Because that's not what you do," said Beetee simply. "You don't protect; you kill, and that's what you've been known for since you were sixteen. You dismiss and move on and don't linger on who gets hurt. That's how you earned your name and that's what every living soul in Panem saw from your Games and after. You've had no emotional attachment to anyone or anything, until now, and it doesn't fit your character, or what we've assumed your character to be up until this point. It's a welcome change, but a difficult one to process. We have a right to wonder why you spared Olathe when you dismissed others who were just as mentally unsound like Wiress."

This was a subject that Haymitch certainly hadn't thought about cropping up. Yes, Brutus had killed people Haymitch knew and cared for and Haymitch had killed Brutus's closest thing to a friend he had, but Beetee's connection to Wiress ran deeper than any of Brutus's victims and as he confronted Brutus on it now, it wasn't anger in his voice that Haymitch detected. It was a plea for understanding.

"Your district partner was never a fighter," Brutus told Beetee and if he had been going for sounding as uninterested and detached as possible, he was succeeding. "Olathe came back at the start of the gong. She was ready to fight and she damn well _fought_ because she wasn't afraid of dying, wasn't afraid of any of us because none of us would do what that little prick of a tribute did to her all those years ago. Your district partner threw cans at me. She was never going to make it and it was better to die a quick death at the beginning than a slow death later on for drawn-out Capitol entertainment."

"And you didn't know her," said Peeta. "Not like you wanted to know Olathe."

"Bring it up again, boy, see where it gets you," said Brutus, pounding his fist on the table.

"I think you're all missing the point here," said Sharpe, but Plutarch dismissed it.

"No, I think they've grasped it just fine. Unity, camaraderie, cooperation, and care for human life. Haymitch, you and Katniss went to pieces when you lost your allies, people not from your district. You aren't supposed to give a damn about anyone but yourself, maybe your district partner, but with Rue, with Zelic, Finnick, Mags, and Caesar, you couldn't hide your true emotions, which were grief, fear of loss of these people, and devotion. Brutus did exactly what the rest of you did, but it was a shock to you coming from him, why? Because it was unexpected. That's what the nation sees when you band together. The unexpected, an opposing force to match the Capitol's rule in the simple act of treating each other as neighbors rather than enemies. The districts are still afraid to trust each other, but thanks to the victors in the arena, they're seeing what can be accomplished in the face of unity; they just need to be reminded of it, which is why we're releasing the clips as the first in a series to the districts to rally them."

"How, the Capitol controls the airwaves," Katniss pointed out. "You can't broadcast anything without them cutting you out."

"They don't have Beetee anymore, though," said Plutarch triumphantly. "He built their security systems and he can break back into them, give us little windows of opportunity during which we can air our videos. It won't happen overnight because he has to figure out how to hack back into a system built specifically to keep people like him out, but I'm confident that he'll succeed. In the meantime, we'll use additional footage from the Games and stock up on footage of the rest of you as well as our incoming allies."

"Incoming?" repeated Peeta.

"The moment we had you all, we sent envoy to the districts, namely to the victors, asking for their assistance in the rebellion," said Sharpe. "We wanted to rally them since districts follow in the footsteps of their victors. We weren't sure of the response we'd get, knowing that the victors might see this as a trap, but we got a favorable response from more than we'd hoped for, from the victors who defected to your cause and we're expecting refugees daily now, airlifted out of pre-chosen areas for safe evacuation. However, those victors who have decided to remain neutral in this fight have put themselves up for elimination if they take up arms against us in the war to come."

"Who are the rebel victors?" asked Caesar, and with a note of curiosity that he couldn't help.

The commander referenced her list and read: "From 1: Onyx DeForce and Prodigy Vanderbeek, from 2: Flint Masters and Gunnison Dartmouth, from 4: Brooke Pingley and Eaton Rowan, and from 7: Silas Ashdown. They, along with small handfuls of rebels from each district are being brought here to help aid in the rebellion as Snow begins to exert his force on the districts. Once the Peacekeepers swarm in, it'll be difficult if not impossible to flee the districts. There's only so much we can do from the outside to inspire the districts; the real change will have to take place from within."

"Which leads me to our second work-in-progress," said Plutarch with the excitement of a schoolboy showing off a project he spent long hours on. The lights dimmed again, the projector came back on, and security footage set to music with an undertone of abandonment and peril played over it, suggesting that all was futile and that Caesar's sad story was coming to an end as the video showed what looked like a pristine prison cell.

Caesar was struck repeatedly with Peacekeeper batons along his back and arms as he cowered on the floor, protecting his head. Then Capitol doctors came in, surgically removing all traces of his onscreen identity and it looked painful as they poked at him, injected him, reversed the years of plastic surgery. After, he was beaten again, dragged between two Peacekeepers to the Launch Room and told to strip and put on his wetsuit. He lay on the ground for at time, sped up on camera but it had to have been half an hour at least when he finally let his interview suit drop and dressed himself in the arena clothing. Claudius's voice obviously announced launch time and Caesar took hesitant steps toward the tube, wincing with every movement. Once inside, he knelt, head bowed and eyes closed in what Haymitch could only interpret as a prayer stance before the platform began to rise and he along with it. The accompanying music built up, now with a hint of hope. Breaking into the arena's stormy weather, he ignored the other tributes as they stared at him and the footage was pushed sideways to share the screen with various crowd reactions at the Gamemakers' headquarters where betters saw their beloved host about to die. His name appeared on the betting list just as the gong sounded, the music reached a swell, and a pair of cymbals clashed with Caesar's headlong dive into the waves.

The screen went black and the lights came back up. Plutarch looked between them all expectantly, grinning.

Haymitch was the only one to speak, for Caesar was watching the blank screen with his brow pulled down, his forefingers pressed together at his lips in a self-silencing gesture. "And what was the point in showing us that? What did that accomplish?"

"It's still being edited, but we're putting together a compilation of Caesar's accomplishments in the arena as well as the Capitol's reaction to him," said Plutarch. "We want to show that change can come from within, like Commander Groves said, and that there is still a chance to side with us before the hammer falls. Videos like these of each of you will be promoted on screens across Panem as a reminder to everyone that those who were singled out at the time of their reaping became the strongest of us all. You and the other victors were reaped with no one to take your places and you were prepared to die but you came back stronger and wiser, if not completely whole. Even someone with no experience or warning about what was about to happen to him such as Caesar Flickerman was able to survive when all of the odds were stacked against him. And why did he do it? What made him give up the lovely life he had?"

Well, Haymitch knew the answer to that: the Capitol's bullshit. Caesar had had enough, simple as that, but obviously that wasn't broadcasted on live television during the Games. Most of what Caesar had said was edited out because every word reeked of rebellion. Caesar's very presence in the Games was an insult to the system but they wouldn't have let his words have any more of an impact on the nation by letting him speak freely to the audience.

"His last moments as the Master of Ceremonies happened when he was talking to you, Haymitch. During your interview, he let you tell the entire world what it meant being a victor and a murderer. Your words moved him to take action. And for that reason, you're as much a part of the rebellion as Katniss. That's why we want the two of you to be the face of it."

Taken aback, Haymitch chanced a glance at his fellow victors as if to see if they considered him to be worthy of such a title or if they too thought that Plutarch was reaching too far at this point. The only one of them who didn't seem to agree with Plutarch was Brutus, but since the man had one facial expression, Haymitch didn't take his opinion into account. He certainly was the leader of Plutarch's scheme in the actual arena, the one who gathered the other victors to the cause of saving Katniss, but that was as far as his involvement went. He never expected to actually be here, plotting the Capitol's downfall with himself and Katniss at the forefront.

"What good am I?" he asked at long last when Plutarch didn't admit the whole thing to being a joke. "She's the Mockingjay."

"But together, you birthed the rebellion. Both of you defied the Gamemakers in both Games. You with using the force field at the Second Quarter Quell, her with the nightlock last year. And then in the Quarter Quell, from the moment the two of you were reaped, all of Panem saw your disgust, your refusal to play by the rules. It may have come alive with Katniss's help during her Games, but the true rebellion started with you, Haymitch. It was twenty-five years in the making, but you turned your hatred for the Games into a weapon in the form of a force field and even in your alcoholism afterward, you coached this magnificent young woman into the spitting image of your youthful self. You made her fight back in her own way and she learned from the best. You have to share this responsibility because Caesar Flickerman, a man thought to be entirely and utterly devoted to the Capitol, turned rebel on your behalf. The districts were in an uproar after that, demanding Caesar's head since he was a part of the Capitol that could be punished in the Games for what they'd done, but you refused to kill him, and he ended up being your greatest asset in the Games, so when the arena crumbled, the rebellion began. And now it needs both of you to lead. After all, what do you have to lose?"

What did he have to lose? At the time, during the Second Quarter Quell, he hadn't seen his using the force field as an act of defiance and only after the murder of his family and girlfriend did he register the rebellious nature of it. But by then, he had nothing, no one…until along came Katniss and Peeta and just as Plutarch had said, in his own way, he had groomed Katniss into an equally defiant tribute and victor. She wasn't the only Mockingjay. It was both of them, he the jabberjay who whispered in the ears of those who would listen and she the mockingbird who turned those whispers into calls for help. He was the head; she was the heart. Together, the face of the rebellion.

"You get it, don't you?" asked Plutarch excitedly. "You see where I'm coming from now."

Purely to humor him out of reluctant interest, Haymitch posed, "What did you have in mind?"

Rubbing his hands together enthusiastically, Plutarch showed Haymitch and the others some sketches of ideas, but before he could get started, Haymitch covered them with his own hand. "Keep in mind here that I'm not looking to be used to further your political agenda, or the agendas of our president and commander here. As grateful as I am that we were rescued from the arena, I was prepared to die in there and had no thought of contributing to anything beyond Katniss's survival and since I managed that, I consider my part in this deal settled. So the moment you start using my emotional trauma or the trauma suffered by any of the other survivors as a means to make your cause look good, we're done. We've earned that respect."

"Of course," said Plutarch, though Haymitch could see that Plutarch was hoping to proceed without any qualms from Haymitch. "So what I wanted to do was not only let Snow know you're alive and well, but that you were a part of this plan for ages, make him suspect that he has dozens of people in his ranks working for us, make him paranoid. I'm sure he suspects that you all were rescued by some sort of small rebel force, but he doesn't know what you're doing or where you've gone. He's not foolish enough to think that you'd flee into the wilderness; none of you would so easily give up. I want him to see your faces, intercut with images of revolt in the districts when it starts—and we'll have to air the videos you already saw first as well as get shots of you and the victors to come, fighting for our cause, then we'll need footage of the districts in full revolt, starting with what we already have from Districts 7 and 8 from before the Games."

Yes, Districts 7 and 8 had held the smallest of revolts following Katniss and Peeta's Victory Tour, but they had been all but settled by the time the Games began and for the survivors, would they still be willing or able to lead a second strike?

"Just short clips in segments that will alert Panem to your willingness to come to their aid," Plutarch continued, interrupting Haymitch's thoughts. "Imagine this: the Capitol going about an ordinary day, watching their screens with no real purpose when suddenly their sets flicker as if there's a disturbance in the signal. Their television programs come back on, but again, there's a disruption. Finally, the sound of their programs cut out and there's a black screen. You hear Katniss and Rue's mockingjay signal, then a rough, war-raged voice. You see Haymitch's face, glaring straight ahead while images of his two Games play behind him. A quick cut-away to the battling in the districts. Return to see Katniss with the same expression with images of _her_ Games playing behind her. More revolt in the districts, and so on and so forth, showing each victor to our cause, each victor who has defected to our side against the Capitol that made them what they are. And I've comprised a series of sentences and phrases each of you will provide as a voice-over for while your face is onscreen. Together, it'll make one coherent message. That's just one idea, but I think it would be powerful, seeing the surviving victors looking so ready for justice."

"A war commercial," said Katniss flatly. "You want us to shoot a war commercial."

"A call to arms," Beetee corrected. "We're not pretending here, Katniss. I can see what Ambassador Heavensbee is getting at. Imagine that you're one of the rebels in the districts, waiting out a storm of Peacekeepers, when suddenly this—as you call it—commercial appears and you see Haymitch, the fury on his face. You know it's not reused footage because no one has seen him since the arena collapsed. You know it's recent because he looks different. You know he's alive and that he's fighting back, that you aren't alone and that there's a chance. And as the faces of the rest of the victors follow, you know that the Capitol is losing its hold on those who owe them their fortunes. That is to say, if victors as well-off as Prodigy and Onyx and Gunnison have joined the rebels, that means that the Capitol really is the enemy. You take a rich man, a man who has everything, and you offer him the chance to continue living his lifestyle or giving it up with the possibility of dying and see how many men take that offer. That's what all these remaining victors have done, and the districts will respond to that. We don't have to pretend to be angry for the three seconds our faces are onscreen. We just have to be willing to let our faces be seen."

"Exactly, I couldn't have put it better myself," said Plutarch appreciatively. "We can start shooting tomorrow. My director and her crew will make you all camera ready with the help of Effie Trinket who has graciously agreed to provide her services and while some of you are being filmed, others will be recording the lines I have prepared for you."

Camera ready? Was it not enough to simply stand in front of the camera as is so that the audience could see the scars the most recent Games had taken on their bodies? How would powder and makeup enhance that? And in any case, Haymitch didn't want to have to dress up or put on any more makeup after his last Games. He was done with that after he shed Portia's final suit for him.

Peeta voiced these concerns, but it was Caesar who answered the question. "They're not going to try and hide the damage. They want to enhance it so that the districts will see that you've actually been in battle, fought for the cause already."

" 'We', Caesar," said Haymitch. "Your face will be up there too. You're a victor as much as anyone here, and they'll respond to your face because you were thrown in for having sympathy for us. You came from the Capitol and you disagreed with the system, but you survived, even when they tried to make an example of you. I'd pay my entire fortune just to see Snow's face when he sees you on his screen again, this time fighting for us."

"It's settled then, that is, if I have everyone's consent here? I'm aware that the camera favors Katniss and Haymitch, but I assure the rest of you that your face counts as much as your vote to agree to this."

"If Katniss is in, I'm in," said Peeta loyally.

"Me too," said Beetee.

Olathe, who had said and done nothing since comforting Haymitch, now flickered her eyes between him and Caesar and finally Brutus before nodding.

Brutus gave a dramatic roll of his eyes. "Alright, whatever."

"Caesar?" said Plutarch.

Caesar Flickerman, the man who could influence so many and who everyone thought they could trust until he turned out to be full of lies. Of one thing, he had been absolutely truthful, and that was that he was a voice that people couldn't help listening to. Whether or not they believed him was another matter, but he had a talent that had been used against Panem for so long, maybe it was time to start using it _for_ them.

"I'm in," said Caesar.

"Then we'll get started as soon as the other victors arrive," said President Sharpe. "In the meantime, Katniss and Peeta, Corporal Iverson will show you to your families' quarters. Commander Boone and Lieutenant Callen will fill the rest of you in on how you can communicate with us here in Command as well as each other. You'll meet with the producer and her crew tomorrow, but take the rest of the day to familiarize yourselves with Thirteen."

Recognizing dismissal, Haymitch rose to leave immediately, but found himself waiting for Caesar who was still confined to his crutch. The two of them started out when Commander Groves informed Olathe that since Katniss would now be moving into a pod with her mother and sister, it would just be her and Effie in the women's pod. Wonderful.

Haymitch didn't want to spend the rest of the day familiarizing himself with Thirteen. He wanted to go to bed since his new duties as a fellow Mockingjay or whatever the hell sort of nickname they were going to come up for him would involve no sleep. He and Caesar walked back to their pod together but Brutus had beaten them back to the pod and was on his bunk when they entered. He glanced at them and then rolled onto his side away from them. They each copied him, covering their eyes against the pod lights that wouldn't go out until curfew.

They slept, missing dinner completely and not caring because it was the first real, sound, undisturbed sleep any of them had gotten since before the reaping. No nightmares, no fits, no symptoms of mental or emotional trauma coming back to haunt them. For almost twelve hours they slept and when he awoke, Haymitch couldn't ever remember feeling so pure, clean, and well-rested.

It was a sign of bad things to come because these sorts of things didn't happen to Haymitch.

Peeta came in at around nine with a solemn expression on his face. "I asked Sharpe and Groves for permission to go topside. The others are waiting on you."

With a faint grumble in his stomach, Haymitch followed the young man out to the lift where Boone was waiting for them. Apparently, special permission to go above ground meant that they needed an escort to either keep them from running off or to protect them, both of which were ridiculous ideas. They came out from underneath a giant slab of rubble into a small, protected clearing surrounded by the ruins of what District Thirteen had been before being bombed by the Capitol. The ground held stone remains, but grass and wildflowers grew up through the cracks with the promise of new life.

Katniss, Olathe, and Beetee were there, but not Effie or Plutarch and not Katniss or Peeta's families. This was something to be shared only by the victors. Peeta produced a figurine as they gathered around a humble but welcome fire.

It was a simple woodwork piece, carved with the names of the fallen tributes of the 75th Hunger Games and shaped into something roughly bird-looking.

Peeta cleared his throat and Haymitch removed his beanie in a show of respect, clasping his hands in front of him.

"Tonight, we remember those people, good men and women who we lost because they had the strength to show the Capitol that victors are not a product of the city that birthed them. We remember our friends, our family, and we promise that their sacrifice, though not the last, would not go unchallenged. We promise a future for the world they wished for."

He condemned the figure to the fire and the flames set upon it immediately.

They all closed in just a bit tighter even with mere inches separating some of them while a good foot or two stood between others. For a summer's night, it was bitterly cold and they took warmth from each other, standing around the fire and thinking of their fallen comrades.

Haymitch's eyes were closed, and so he couldn't tell who had made the sound, but he heard the whistle and pressing his three inside fingers on his left hand to his lips, he raised them high to kiss the smoke as it curdled skyward into the night.


End file.
